


Losing One's Head

by Maejones



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1980s type romance novel tropes, Autumn/Halloween theme, F/M, Graphic Description, Mild Gore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Total Trash, basically an excuse for lots of sex, cabin in the woods, did I mention smut?, post revolutionary times, problematic characterizations, problematic situations, puritan themes, sleepy hollow themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maejones/pseuds/Maejones
Summary: Molly summons a dark being. What will happen when he, ahem, comes?





	1. At Her Behest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilsherlockian1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/gifts), [darnedchild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darnedchild/gifts).



> Don't want to give too much away but this is what I might describe as a tiny bit creepy but hey, IT'S HALLOWEEN THEMED!

      The Widow Hooper held her breath as she listened to the heavy steps of fate tromp up the front steps of her homestead. When her lungs began to burn, she exhaled a thin stream of vapor from her lips. She had doused the fire in her simple stone hearth hours ago in preparation for the evening and the cold had since permeated every measure of the humble dwelling. The thudding steps slowed and then stopped. A wretched squeak and groan from the ancient timbers signaled a large body settling onto the boards just outside the knotty pine door. Fear prickled her skin. Her entire form started to vibrate. It was him.

     Her summoning spell had worked.

     She swallowed. Shallow breaths burst from her nostrils in misty puffs.

     _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

     Molly’s shoulders jumped as the door shook on its hinges. She struggled to quell the panic rising in her throat. Either death or deliverance had arrived. She was not confident she knew which she faced.

    “I call upon the goddess moon,” she whispered, “bathe this sanctuary in thy protective light. I call upon the goddess moon, bathe this sanctuary in thy protective light . . .”

     _Bang!_

With that final slam, the door swung open with a faint wail like a mewling cat. She slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. It was most assuredly him. She cast her bulging eyes to his feet, unable to immediately reconcile his distinctive form. After a few nearly hysterical pants, she gathered her courage and lifted her gaze from the worn black leather boots to the muted sheen of a black cloak to the black brocade of a well-tailored waistcoat. Above that there were shoulders so broad, they nearly brushed each side of the door frame. However, that is where the man ended - at the base of his neck. In the place of his head, there was nothing save for the flipped up ends of a stiff collar.

     She gulped again. The gaping wound was crusty and black as if seared with a fiery blade. Only a small arc of the top of his spine remained; the unnatural edge of a vertebrae that had been cleaved apart. Again she was struck by the absurdity of her situation. 

     For, the headless horseman stood in her doorway . . . at _her_ behest.

     Forward he moved like a nightmare while she shrank back. His deliberate steps reverberated throughout the small structure and shook the floor beneath her feet. She instinctively stepped back again and bumped into her bed. Internally she chanted her protective spell while he strode further into the room and slammed the door shut.

     A kind of deep rumble preceded a disembodied, husky baritone intonation.

     “Why have you urged me here, witch?” his supernatural voice seemed to emanate all around her and crackle inside her ears.

     Molly curled her toes in her slippers. It was now or never, she told herself. With shaking hands, she reached up to the scooping neckline of her dress and awkwardly pushed the garment off each shoulder. Cool air instantly goose-pimpled the flesh of her collar. She shimmied a bit and yanked the fabric down to her waist. She gasped as the icy air shocked her skin and caused each of her nipples to tighten. With her eyes fixed to the form of the undead man, she completed the disrobing and finally stood naked in a pool of cotton at her feet.

     “I . . . I want your seed, Hessian,” she whispered.

      The spectre's hands curled into fists at his sides. His form seemed to expand. Every muscle tensed as if he steeled for battle.

     “Hnnnmmm,” a deep growl rattled off every surface.

     In a heartbeat, his hulking form crossed the room. She closed her eyes as massive, scalding hot hands grasped her hips and spun her in the opposite direction. His hands were rough and impossibly hot. For a moment, his fingers pressed into her waist as if he were contemplating breaking her in half. Then, his digits slid up her cool flesh to cup her breasts. Meaty fingers squeezed her nipples between knuckles to just the point before pain. She groaned. Her womanhood flooded with heat and sensation. Too long had she been alone. Too long had she been cast out and empty. Tonight she would have fulfilment - even if she had to coax it from the devil himself.

     “Wanton witch,” the voice reverberated hoarsely in her ears.

     "Huh, mm, y-yes, I am," she moaned.

      Molly closed her eyes. In her fevered imagination, she envisioned him as the man with the mass of curls in the painting she had discovered and stowed away in the trunk on the loft above them. Before he had lost his head, his was a face fit for a fallen angel with crystalline blue-green eyes under heavy black brows. Months she had been enamored with the otherworldly depiction of high cheekbones, a determined male jaw and plump, bow lips. Oh, how she had ached for the beautiful beast!

      An excited shiver travelled her spine when she felt him nudge her legs apart. Then, hot fingers glided down over the curve of her arse, between her thighs and sought her cleft. 

      "Unh," she grunted as a large finger parted her folds and a calloused pad found her most throbbing point. 

      Her sex clenched and infused with a tingling warmth again. She could feel herself preparing, preparing to be claimed by the dark rider. 

      "You want my seed? For want purpose?" his voice hissed as he rubbed her clit. "Will you work your dark magic on me? Do you seek to enslave me, witch?"

      She shook her head. Her hair fluttered over her bare shoulders. She kept sucking in breaths until her lungs felt like they would burst.

      "N-No, I just want for you to remember the man you once were," she cried as the tension within her core increased.

      In the next tick, that long, wicked finger of his and another probed into her body. She bit her lip as the coarse penetration of them pushed deep into her sex and pumped in and out of her tight chamber. His fingers soon became slick with her arousal. She pushed back on them, whimpering and keening for more. Again, she heard a rumbling tone of guttural satisfaction surround her and vibrate through her to where she most desperately ached. When she thought the teasing could not get any more pleasurable, his slippery thumb pushed up between her cheeks and rubbed around her other entrance.

       "Ah!" 

       Molly cursed. The feeling was all sorts of sinful. Pleas fell from her lips like a longing rainfall. She begged him for more. More, she wanted, _more_!

      His hand retreated then and she heard the rustling of clothing at her back. His cloak swished and slapped into her backside. In the next moment, she was pushed forward onto her hands and knees on the edge of her straw mattress. Something large and fleshy sprang up against her bum. She felt it slap lightly against her cheeks a couple of times before it poked between her legs. All at once, a searing heat and blunt, rounded head pushed apart her folds. Up and down, he rubbed it until it too was as wet as she. A hand pushed her down again until she was bent over with her bum high in the air. What followed stole her breath. With a jerk, the massive helmet breached her inner sanctuary, stretched her apart. He then buried himself in her cunt right up to the base of his rigid shaft. She choked on a cry as his fill felt like it poked out her belly-button. The top of his shaft pulled up and tugged the flesh between her entries. It was almost disturbing how viscerally he possessed her body, but over and above that, it was more satisfying than any hunger she had ever quelled.

      She closed her eyes against the linens of the bed and squeezed along his length. She could not believe what was housed inside her body. Its heat was surreal. The musculature of it was unyielding. She sobbed in relief when it began to move. Her hips were gripped again in a vice-like grasp. Fingers pressed into her flesh. The horseman did not waste any time plundering her body. His thrusts came fast and hard, they were almost punishing as he pinioned her sex. Over and over he thrust until her body was sucking at him and his testicles slapped her cunt. The quick ratcheting up of her excitement left her breathless and wound to the point of snapping.  

       Molly's cries mixed with his grunts. The intense friction began to spark a magic within her and an awakening. Then, his hand gathered her up and back until she could feel the stitching of his waistcoat. His strokes shortened until he was jerking her up from the bed. One hand held her hip down on him while the other reached to rub her clit.

       "Oh, unh," she cried when his fingers found her sweet spot, "ooooh."

      That was as much as she could take before her womb contracted and her orgasm ricocheted throughout her being. Her core clenched and then quivered on his cock. Deep murmurs of satisfaction emanated from his form and with a final, upward thrust, he shuddered and came. His shaft twitched and emptied within her like a kettle boiling over. His torso echoed his release for several moments, jolting her form with his spasms. When his release faded, his slippery member withdrew with a slurp. Scorching hot seed ran down her inner thigh. Her legs shook. She collapsed down on the bed and turned to gaze at him. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of her dark lover.

       He appeared to have a head with the face in which she had become so infatuated. She gulped down her surprise and gathered a blanket up to cover herself. Intense, narrowed eyes with glowing blue-green irises like the tail of a lightning bug regarded her as he rearranged his clothing.       

       "You have made a grievous error in summoning me here, little witch," he murmured.

        She bit her lip briefly. "I-I promise I will not do it again. Y-You are free to return from wherever you came."

        He strode forward and leaned down. His beautiful, pale face seemed almost translucent as his lips twitched.

        "That is your mistake, little witch, I was never under your control. You called for me . . . but I _chose_ to come."

        Her breath caught. His head tilted. His luminous eyes burned brighter and then his voice dropped an octave.

        "And rest assured, I will choose to come again."

        Then, the ghostly image of his striking face flickered and disappeared from his collar once more. With a sweep, his monstrous, headless frame turned; flinging the ends of his cloak. He stalked to the door, yanked it open and disappeared into the night.


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horseman cums again.

     _“And rest assured, I will choose to come again.”_

* * *

 

Molly put her collection basket down and rubbed the back of her hand across her brow. She stretched up on her knees from where she had been plucking carrots, then shook her head. She was beginning to question her sanity. The rumble of the Horseman’s seductive voice still sounded so recent and raw in her ears, yet what had happened was like something out of a dream. In fact, she could recall very little of the exact details of what she had been doing before and after his visit which made her think she had experienced the whole thing during a rather tumultuous sleep. This was especially true considering when she had awoken the next morning in her bed, the hearth of her fire was burning through the last of its fuel. The coals that remained were of the typical amount left over after a night’s rest.

      Molly had searched around that morning for any evidence he had actually been there. The candles and the poultice she had prepared remained so at least she knew she had tried to perform her simple magic. However, the chalk glyphs and symbols she had drawn on the floorboards just in front of the door were undisturbed. Surely, if he had come, his heavy tread would have disturbed the composition.

     So, that just left her body. Yet, there was not a mark to be found and though her womanhood _felt_ different, it was not sore nor was there any extraneous evidence of his ejaculation. She groaned in mortification and covered her face as heat infused her flesh. How absurd she was, she thought! Her obsession with the Hessian and everything she had learned about him from local legend and her own research had skewed her reality. She wanted so badly to believe in him that she had succumbed to her own dark fantasies. He was not real, he could not have been. What a decadent fantasy she had allowed herself to believe!

     Molly grabbed her basket violently and pushed to her feet. The sun was almost set and the light from the pinky-orange sky was waning fast. A gust of wind plastered her skirts to her legs and tried to claim the bonnet from her head. She hurried towards the hatch doors at the side of her cabin that led down to the larder beneath her home. With a grunt, she heaved them open and scurried down the creaky steps. Once she set foot on the earthen floor, she put her basket aside, lit an oil lamp and removed her bonnet.

     She went to work putting her harvest away. Her stores were meticulously organized. Of course, since her ostracizing from the village, she had a lot of spare time to do just that. She sighed as she gazed upon the rows of stocked shelves and her apothecary-type collection of herbs and remedies. She’d had very few visitors in the last year since her husband Tom had passed. Without those few patrons’ meagre support, she would be completely destitute. For, Tom died the night after she had saved the child he had fathered with the mayor’s daughter. The townsfolk all thought she killed Tom or at least, cast some sort of spell to bring about his death out of vengeance for his betrayal.

     Molly bit back a bitter laugh. She probably shouldn’t have uttered such a curse aloud. She had just been very angry when she had proclaimed the Horseman should come collect Tom’s head for his treachery. It was a morbid joke born of heartbreak at the most cruelly ironic moment in her life as she, his barren wife, delivered the child he had so badly wanted to another woman in the mayor’s posh home. When Tom was found separated from his head in their fields the next day having apparently fallen from his tiller and then subsequently run over, no one ever looked at her the same way. She went from being a cherished healer in the village to a suspected witch.

     Molly clenched her teeth.  They had driven her to embrace the mystic with their puerile expulsion from their ranks. Having lost their regard, she had decided to expand her knowledge and delve into magic. If they wanted a witch, she would give them a witch. Tears stung her eyes. She angrily wiped them away as she put away the last of her harvest. She hated having such rage course through her; she hated the loneliness it fostered. She feared her isolation was driving her to madness. Some witch she turned out to be, though! To date, all her magic practice had managed to do was conjure a rather sinful dream cum nightmare depending on how one viewed it.

     _THUNK!_

Molly’s heart seized in her chest as she was yanked from her reverie. Had the wind gusted one of her larder doors shut, she wondered? They were heavy four-inch thick storm slabs, her thoughts scrambled, so wind shutting them would be highly unlikely!

     _THUNK!_

She could not see the entry from her position behind the farthest shelf. For a moment, she was frozen in place, unsure if she should investigate or remain concealed. She turned down the light on her lamp to its lowest flame. The storage room was nearly black at that juncture as the sun had finally set.

     _Squeeeeak._

_Squeeeeak._

_Squeeeeak._

Footsteps descended her larder stairs. She gulped back a lump and pinched herself. Her thoughts turned to the foreboding familiarity of her situation. Was it him? Was he real and not just a product of her over-active imagination? 

      “I have returned, little witch,” a deep voice intoned, rattling the jars on the shelf next to her head.

     Molly nearly dropped her lamp. She pinched herself harder but there was no waking from this hallucination. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to race like a spooked stag. He spoke again.

     “Reveal yourself. I have . . . _need_ of you.”

     Something in the timber of his voice caused her belly to quiver. She caught her lower lip in her teeth. She experienced a flashback of his cock rutting between her legs and flushed in the very same place.

     “Hmmmnnnn,” he murmured, “I know what haunts you, witch. It has occupied my waking moments as of late too. I can feel you on me . . . even now.”

     The insistence in his voice pulled at her gut. Her toes relaxed and feet moved forward as if under his control. Molly fumbled with the valve on her lamp and turned up the flame again just as she stepped from behind the shelves into the open void of the larder. She raked in a breath when she saw his massive frame blocking her only route of escape. The glass shroud of her light clacked in its frame in her unsteady hold. Again, his black-clad form was nightmarishly macabre in the scant light. The collar of his cape nearly touched the timbers of the underside of the cabin’s floor. If he had a head, he would not even be able to stand up straight.

     “I-I thought I dreamed you,” she whispered.

     “I am no dream,” he returned in a rolling baritone that came at her in every direction.

      Her Hessian moved suddenly and fear spiked through Molly when she witnessed his hand dive for the sword at his side. He drew the thick blade from its holster. Light flashed off the deadly sharp angle of its cutting edge. For a moment, she was gripped with panic. Was this death? Was this the end? However, instead of wielding the weapon, he slammed the glinting blade down into the dirt floor. Then, he unclasped the holster at his waist and slung it over the jeweled handle and its broad, spiked crossguard. Next, he yanked at the ties of his cape and deposited the heavy black fabric over top the sword as well.

     Molly could not take her eyes from his taut frame. The muscles of his chest and arms strained through his close-fitting, black shirt. His black waistcoat clung to his tapered waist. His was a body built for combat and so different from her former husband’s lean and lanky build. Her fingers started to tremble with the desire to touch him.

     “Come here,” he commanded in his lowest tone.

     She hesitated but hung her lamp on a nearby hook and shuffled forward until she was within his reach. She stared at the black, opalescent buttons of his intricately stitched waistcoat. Her breaths were short and shallow. Her sex ached with the anticipation of feeling him invade her body again. She suppressed a needy sigh when her insides stung with her arousal.

     “Mm, you want me to take you again, do you not?” He asked, the sound vibrated from his chest.

     She nodded. “Yes. I-It is all I have thought about.”

     Molly heard a low chuckle disturb the air around her head. She could swear his chest puffed before a large hand shot out and dragged her to him. He lifted her up against his chest where she found herself inches from his mortal wound. She did not understand how she could be both horrified and aroused at the same time. He walked her back with her feet dangling beneath her until they were at the foot of the stairs. Once there, he turned and swept his free hand towards the larder hatch, the two halves sprang open and he hoisted her over his shoulder.

    “Oof!” She heaved.

    A brawny forearm supported the back of her legs as he carried her up the stairs. Molly’s face flooded with heat. She could not believe she was being tromped through her yard like a sack of potatoes. Pins from her hair fell with each bounce and her tresses tumbled around her face. The Horseman worked a similar touch-less magic on her front door when they mounted the steps and it slammed open before he even stepped onto the landing. He continued straight through the door which shut in their wake. Seconds later, she was slung back onto her bed. Her hair splayed out over her linens. She chewed her lip while quickly pushing her shoes off her feet. She wanted him so badly.

     Her demon wasted no time either. He jerked open his waistcoat and shirt, dropped his trousers and rucked up her skirts.

     _Riiiiip._

Her drawers were torn away. In the next heartbeat, he crawled onto the bed between her legs.

   “Unh!”

     Intent fingers penetrated her sex. She felt his pads explore her inner walls and stroke her from the inside. She whimpered, let her head fall back and spread her legs wider.

     “You like this, little witch?” he murmured, rotating his fingers and plunging them in once more.

      “O-Oooh, yeeesss,” she cried, “s-so much.”

      His large thumb slid up over her throbbing clit while his other fingers pushed up behind her pelvic bone. There was a strange pressure and then suddenly she was breathlessly clawing at the top of her bed. The ache bubbled and became nearly unbearable. She begged for release.

     “Hnnmm, I would like to do so much more,” he growled, “I would like to taste you.”

     She moaned as he continued his debauched stimulation.

    “Yes,” she panted, “yes, I wish that too.”

    “Alas,” he grumbled, “all I can give you is my flesh.”

    The Horseman’s hand scooped under her bottom and scooted her up the bed. She reached to spread her hands over the tantalizing skin she could see between the halves of his shirt but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her forearms down with his own.

     “Do not . . . _do not_ touch me,” he warned.

     Molly’s eyes widened. His face flickered and appeared. His back-lit eyes narrowed to glowing slits. For a few seconds, she was struck mute by his beauty. Eventually, she found her voice.

     “Wh-Why am I forbidden from touching you?”

     The light in his eyes flashed. “I do not trust you, little witch, nor the magic that resides in your hands.”

      She licked her lips.

     “Yet, y-you do not fear beguiling by my nether regions?” she whispered.

     A wicked smile curved his lips. His heavy hips spread her legs. The rounded head of his shaft nestled against her cleft.

     “No,” he cleaved into her body with a grunt, “huh, mmph, th-this part of you has already fallen to my sword.”

     Molly huffed as their torsos came together. Again, he felt incredibly hot inside her, like a firm root that burned from within. She inhaled a quaky breath and hooked her quivering legs over his bum. When her hips shifted, he slipped deeper into her womb. Her sensitive skin mapped every fiber beneath the smooth skin of his engorged member.

     “God, oh, God!” She cried when he began to pound her flesh.

     His possession was savage and unrelenting. Each return stroke jolted her into her mattress where the hay compressed into a firm cradle. Her fingers flexed above where he held her wrists tightly. She itched to hold him but he continued stroking into her until she was so wet, he glided in and out of her with ease. Only then, his pace slowed. He liberated her hands, propped himself up on one elbow and slid a hand behind her neck. Strong fingers fiddled with the hair at the back of her neck.

     “Look at our joining, little witch, look at how your body craves me,” he murmured.

     Molly obeyed and bent her head forward to see is thick cock sliding out from her cunt. It was a surreal experience, the vision of her flesh clinging to his rigid shaft while she could feel the pressure of him pushing her apart. Her breath hitched.

     “Umm,” she bit her lip, “unh, my lord.”

     She greedily watched their copulation and the quick cycle of his thrusts until a slick, milky film coated the base of his cock. At no time during her marriage to Tom had she ever behaved so wantonly. The sinful excitement of that debased imagery caused her to clench. A curse rattled the air around them. Then a savage buck drove her back down. The Horseman curled his fingers over hers again, bent forward and bucked into her until she was crying out from the raw friction. The assault on her swollen nerves was so intense, it was a pleasurable form of pain. The sensation at her clit was like wool rubbed together to the point it was crackling. In the next breath, his penetration struck her like flint and her insides burst into flames. Her legs jerked over his back and she succumbed to the involuntary spasms wrought upon her body.

     Her release seemed to spur him to finish. A final, hard lance staked her to the mattress and he erupted and bathed her insides with his liquid, hot seed. She could feel the coat of it with each spurt like splashes of hot water on her cervix. It was a visceral reminder that he was not a mortal man and their joining was not at all natural. He remained there for only the shortest sojourn. 

     “Stay,” she begged frantically when he pushed up from the bed.

     Her Hessian’s head shimmered atop his shoulders like a flame in a breeze. He lifted his ghostly chin for a tick and then leaned back over her menacingly.

      “I am deliverance,” he hissed as his head tilted, “I am desolation. I am . . . _death_. You are sorely mistaken if you think there is any comfort to be found with me.”

     “B-But-”

     His hand shot out and encircled her neck. A thumb dipped into the hollow at her neck. His eyes sparked.

     “I have one foot in the fires of hell, little witch. Do not think you can play with those putrid flames without being burned.”

     With that he released her and stepped back. He waved his hand and his sword with his cape appeared just at his back as if he had stuck it into her wooden floor. He flicked his fingers and instantaneously, the buttons scattered from his earlier wrenching apart of his waistcoat and shirt flew back and they cinched together again. His cape snapped up from the sword into the air and opened, then fluttered back down to his shoulders and tied together. His holster snaked around his waist and clasped with unseen hands. Finally, he jerked the sword up from its mooring and slid it back into his holder.

    Molly smoothed her skirts back down with trembling fingers. His phantom face regarded her darkly for a few moments longer. Steaming breaths huffed from his nostrils. Something rippled beneath his pale expression. His lips pulled in a tight line. For the briefest interlude, she thought he might speak again but his hand curled into a fist and he whirled.

    Then, as before, he was gone and she was left with the imprint of him on her flesh.


	3. Evil Walks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRASH ALERT.
> 
> TRIGGERS FOR MAJOR VIOLENCE.
> 
> NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY SMUT.

     "Sorry, I cannot allow you to purchase these items."

     Molly's face drained of blood so quickly her cheeks stung. She swallowed, glanced around in embarrassment and lowered her voice.

     "Please, Mr. Van Buren, . . . here," she jingled her few coins in her hand, "it is honest earnings. I can pay extra-"

     The sour-faced man with his heavy jowls lifted his chin and scrunched his nose in apparent disgust. He leaned forward over his wooden shop counter like an orator at his podium. When he spoke, he made sure to raise his voice so that it could be heard throughout his store.

     "You money is no good here!"

      Molly felt the prickle of tears in the backs of her eyes. She gritted her teeth. Never had she felt so small in her life. She quickly closed her fingers and tucked her hand into her pocket. Head down, she turned to leave but immediately bumped into a lean figure who was a head taller than herself.

      "Whoa there, Mrs. Hooper," a lilting voice soothed her as a hand steadied her by the elbow, "do not run off just yet."

      She glanced up at a familiar face. Minister James Moriarty smiled down at her with a kind of insincere benevolence. Slashing brows tweaked up and dark, brown eyes flashed with humor. He winked, cleared his throat and looked past her to the man behind the counter. 

      "What about my money, good sir?" He asked the shop keep.

      "W-Well, of course, Minister," Mr. Van Buren stuttered, "what would you like?"

      The Minister wagged his brows. "What did you request again, Mrs. Hooper?"

      Molly peeked nervously at the shop keeper. "I-I had hoped to purchase some butter and flour a-and a bit of bacon."

      Minister Moriarty withdrew a worn leather folio from his finely tailored waistcoat and extracted a note. Molly shook her head and held up her hand.

      "No, I cannot allow you to pay-"

       Her champion scoffed. "Ah, Mrs. Hooper, you are as much a part of my flock as anyone. I cannot allow you to go wanting . . . not for a rasher of meat. I imagine you find yourself quite deprived of such sustenance as of late."

       The Minister smirked knowingly. Molly's face flooded with heat at his thinly veiled innuendo. There was something in the way he looked at her that was unsettling as if he had salacious thoughts on his mind. She pressed her lips together. She could not afford to offend him by further refusing his offer, however, so she just nodded.

      "Thank-you, Minister, you are too kind."

      A few minutes later, she was outside eyeing the late afternoon sun warily as she conversed with the Minister. The reticence of the shops to do any business with her had kept her in town much later than she planned and his chit-chat further delayed her departure. She had to get going. The sun would set in an hour's time but the trip home by foot was longer.

      "Thank-you again," she mumbled and dipped her head, "but i-it is getting late and  I must be off."

      Minister Moriarty fell in step at her side. "You journeyed into town by foot, did you not?"

      "Y-Yes."

       She hastened her steps in hopes he would fall behind but he kept up easily. He was far more handsome than any man of God had a right to be and his attention was disconcerting. His attention elicited goosebumps over her flesh. She heard him cluck his tongue before he cupped her elbow. She felt his fingers close gently on her arm and urge her to stop.

      "Mrs. Hooper, I cannot in good conscience let you walk home in the dark."

      Molly tried to shake him off. "I know the road well, Minister. I will be fine-"

      The Minister retracted his hand slowly and gave her an apologetic grimace. His eyes searched her face. 

      "Mrs. Hooper, have you not heard about the recent beheading of the town's notary Henri De Vries? It would appear the horseman has risen from hell again to wreak his vengeance upon this village. It is unwise to travel home unaccompanied."

      Molly's throat closed up. The Horseman had recently murdered someone? For a moment she thought her knees might buckle. Guilt churned her stomach.

      "Good Lord," she whispered.

      Minister Moriarty scrutinized her through narrowed eyes. "This _is_ the first you have heard then?"

      She glanced up at him with rounded eyes and hoped he could not see her inner turmoil. 

      "About th-the beheading? Yes."

      She winced internally. What a thing to say! She may as well confess to summoning the Horseman. For a few seconds, the Minister appeared skeptical but then shrugged. He sighed. An overly sympathetic frown marred his expression. He was an artfully emotive man, she thought, which was probably why he was such a convincing preacher. The few sermons she had been able to attend before her expulsion from society had been quite enthralling. Yet, at this proximity, he seemed much more like a common man with common desires. 

      "Of course you were unaware, out there at your homestead all alone . . . and _lonely_?" he murmured. "Ah, my poor child, you have been grievously misjudged and slandered by these simple-minded village people, hmm? Come, let me prove there is some kindness left in the world. Let me escort you safely home."

      Molly nervously glanced around. Curious passers-by ogled them. She knew she could not pitch a fit in the middle of town and truly, the Minister was the first person to offer any kind of olive branch back to society. If she was going to survive, she needed acceptance from him and the townsfolk. She just wished he did not unnerve her so and prayed that he had no ulterior motive.

      Despite her qualms, in just a short time, Molly sat next to the minister in his buggy on the ever narrowing road back to her home clutching her coveted groceries on her lap. His energetic horse trotted merrily, towing them away from the town at a good clip. The Minister chatted amiably during their trip which helped put her at ease. Perhaps she had been overly-suspicious of him, she mused.

      "There is no need for you to hold your bag this whole time," her seatmate drawled, "why not put it back behind us in the cart bed?"

      She glanced at his attractive profile. She didn't want to part with her prize but she felt silly using it as a buffer. The Minister had been nothing but congenial. She gulped down a nervous lump. Perhaps she wasn't so anxious of him as much as she was anxious _for_ him. Just as she placed her bag behind her in the cart bed, a sound echoed through the woods. 

      _CRACK!_

Molly's head shot up. She frantically searched the dense foliage either side of their conveyance. The Minister's steed fussed and jerked at his restraints and then the buggy lurched. She was thrown forward but her companion caught her with an outstretched arm.

      _CRACK!_ _CRACKLE! CRACK!_

_Snooort. Whooosh._

Molly's heart thumped in her chest. Someone or _something_  shadowed them off the trail. She heard a rustle and the heavy plod of hooves. She closed her eyes a moment. How many days had it been since her last encounter with the Horseman, she wondered? Her stomach contracted as she counted the nights she had spent alone. Eight days had passed; the same length of time from between her first and second experience with the demon. 

      _SNAP!_

      Beside her, the Minister peered around with a fretful expression. He snapped his reins and his skittish steed broke into a run. Then his arm crept around her waist to secure her to him.

     "I fear we are being hunted, Mrs. Hooper. Hold on, I will deliver you home."

      Minister Moriarty whipped his reins again. 

      "Hyah!"  

      The rickety cart sprang forward and they were away. Not too far behind them came the insistent pounding of hooves. Molly glanced back but could not see a thing along the dusky trail. Still, the hoof beats thundered in pursuit, increasing in volume until she feared they would overtake the cart. Around her, the wooden wagon rattled and shook as it bounced over the uneven road. Molly bit her lip. She could not imagine their pursuer was anyone else but the Horseman. What would the Hessian do, she agonized?  

      Around the next bend, her small cabin came into view bathed in the last rays of the setting sun. However, the sight of her humble dwelling offered cold comfort. She was about to urge the Minister to retreat when suddenly, the most horrifying specter she had ever bore witness to imposed itself between them and her front porch.

      The Minister gasped and signed a cross over his chest. "My God-"

     The Headless Horseman had materialized out of a thick fog; a most gruesome profile atop his huge mount as it reared up and its hooves flailed angrily in the air. The beast's body was massive and black and slick as if covered with tar but its abnormally muscular frame was not what would haunt Molly's nightmares. No, she was certain she would be dreaming about the damned stallion's gaping maw where his head once resided. Like his master, his head had also been severed. However, unlike his master, the horse's wound was not a single, clean blow. Flesh hung from around the savaged neck as if whomever removed the beast's head had needed to hack at it several times to make the separation.

      The Minister shouted and yanked at the reins to halt his horse's advance. The petrified animal came to such an abrupt stop that Molly might have tumbled from her seat if not for his hold. The Hessian growled, snapped at his mount's reins and circled their buggy like a predator. The imposing demon-horse trotted sideways and pawed a hoof at the dirt. A gush of misty breath spurted from the windpipe in its neck.

      "Release the witch," the Horseman hissed.

      Molly felt the threat in his timber rattle her bones. 

      "M-Mrs. Hooper," the Minister whispered shakily, "we must make a run for it. We must get inside your home. Do you have a pitcher of water inside or some loose salt? With one or the other, I can bless your transition and keep this evil at bay."

      Molly nodded. "I-I have salt." 

      "Good," he panted, "I am going to spook my horse. When the buggy moves, jump."

      The next few moments were a blur but Molly followed the Minister's instructions and jumped from the cart as soon as it jolted. The pair of them scrambled towards the cabin while his terrified horse whinnied in fear and took off with the cart. They just made it inside when the walls of her homestead seemed to shake all around them. The Minister screamed for the salt but in the next instant went silent and froze in place just inside the door.

      "Minister?" she cried.

      He did not answer. His face had gone still like a doll, his eyes were glassy and his arm hovered just in front of his chest. Then, as if lit by unseen hands, the lamps in her home puffed and flickered to life. 

      _Thump.   Thump.   Thump.  
_

Molly turned her petrified gaze to the open door filled by the Horseman's large, headless frame.

      _Thump, thump._

Wisps of vapors curled up from his shoulders behind his collar.Rage seemed emanate from his form like a mirage on a hot day. Her heart stuttered and almost stopped. She feared her luck had run out. 

      _Eeeeee-whack!_

     The door slammed shut at his back. Next to him, the Minister remained in place like an eerie life-sized portrait. The Hessian's chest heaved with unseen breaths as he turned towards the riveted man. His shoulders bunched.

      "You dare solicit another male, witch?" His voice reverberated in a ghoulish tone as he inspected the Minister. 

      Molly shook her head. "No! No, he only gave me a ride home. I did not . . . e-encourage him."

      The Horseman pivoted in her direction. He held up his hand and and curled it into a fist. Instantly, her muscles slacked and then felt as if they were infused with an elixir. To her shock, her legs carried her to him of their own volition. She drifted forward until she was directly underneath her dark lover. Mist gathered about his neck and his head appeared. She trembled beneath his glowing gaze. The pupils in his phantom eyes glittered like obsidian crystals.

      "You did not discourage him, witch. This is not acceptable. You. Belong. To. Me."

      She sucked in a breath. The possessiveness in his unearthly tone nearly liquified her limbs. Her heart lurched, blood warmed in her veins and began to pump vigorously throughout her system. 

      "I . . . I do not _belong_  to a-anyone," she denied weakly even as his words rang like truth in her ears.

      The Horseman moved towards Molly. She regained control of her body only to stumble back into her kitchen table. With a sharp intake of air, she steadied herself by gripping its wooden edge. His eyes slanted in his ghostly face. Full, phantom lips plumped.

      "Do you not understand what it means to be possessed by me, little witch? Do you not appreciate what you forfeited when you pledged your body to me?" he said in his deepest vibration. "No one else is allowed to touch you now. Especially not this . . . _false_ . . . prophet."

      She licked her lips nervously. 

      "My will is my own, Hessian," she whispered, more to convince herself than him, "my _choices_ are my own."

      A sardonic smile curved his lips and low laughter rumbled from his chest.

      "Shall I prove you wrong, little witch?" his glowing gaze raked her form, "Mm, yes, I am going to enjoy that very much."

      The hair on Molly's nape stood up but once again, her belly quivered with excitement. Deep in her gut she felt a tug towards him like they were connected by threads and a familiar stirring of lust. The Horseman half-smiled again. His intense focus fixated on her as he stepped back and removed his cape. She glanced nervously to the immobile Minister Moriarty. He had not budged but there was a sheen of sweat across his brow. Her pulse fluttered in her neck. A thought struck her.

      "My Lord, i-is he aware of what is happening?"

      "Yes," the Horseman responded simply, "very much aware."

      Every inch of Molly's flesh flooded with mortification. She shook her head. When she looked at the Horseman again, his shirt was undone. The sight of his pale, bare skin caused her knees to weaken. She realized in that moment he meant to claim her again, but this time, with a witness. 

       "This . . . is madness," she panted, captivated by the hard musculature of his chest and abdomen, "this is f-fiendish. Immoral!"

       Yet, the prospect of the good minister as a spectator awakened a part of her she didn't know existed. She experienced excitement from his unblinking stare like a physical rush. Her belly flip-flopped. Her sex tingled. She watched the Horseman with labored breaths while he stalked around the smaller man with a sneer upon his face. He poked the Minister in the head. The frozen man teetered like a vase rocking on a table top. Her Horseman scoffed and threw his cape over the Minister's outstretched arm.

      "Immoral?" the Hessian's lip curled. "Hmph, I assure you, little witch, the Minister is the last man you should trust with matters moral."

       Molly's demented lover assessed her for a few moments longer. The blue-green glow of his eyes transformed to white-hot. Then, he slowly stalked towards her. When he loomed over her again, he flicked his chin up.

      "I want you on the table."

      She swallowed as she peered up at him. He leaned forward. She could just see the outline of his wound through the apparition of his head.

      "Lie back on the table and spread your legs, witch," he repeated in a gravelly murmur.

      "B-But the Minister-"

      His eyes constricted to a thin sliver of light. "I want him to watch what I do to you. I want him to watch you keen and cry and beg. I want him to watch me fill you with my seed while your quim milks me."

       Molly's sex contracted. Moisture gathered between her legs.

       "Y-You are wicked . . . wicked . . ."

       His nostrils flared and for the first time, Molly actually felt his hot breaths on her face.

       "You wanted to sin, little witch, " he growled, "so let us sin."

       Somewhere in the recesses of her soul, her conscience cried out in protest but its strangled voice was drowned out by a louder primal banshee screaming for satisfaction. Tentatively, she wriggled onto the table and then shifted herself farther onto its surface until she could lean back on her hands. She kicked her shoes off, drew up her legs and curled her toes over the table top. His searing gaze made her breathless. Her face flashed hot and cold. She resisted the urge to avert her eyes from his fathomless stare. Something rippled under his ghostly skin when she was fully reclined with her knees parted. For a second, she wondered if she was about to lose another set of underthings to his greedy hands but then the threads along the seams of her dress loosened. Air seized in her lungs as it separated into its different panels, the fabric fell from her like leaves and she was left naked. Cool air perked her nipples and goose-pimpled the flesh of her belly and limbs. In the distant corners of her mind, she knew what she was doing went against the laws of nature and decency but she was far too gone to care. She expected him to take her then but something unexpected happened.

      She felt a lick at the juncture of her thighs.

      "Unh!" her body arched at the shocking pleasure.

      The Horseman hadn't touched her but something wet and probing slid into her cleft. 

      "Uuunnnh!" she felt the glide again and shuddered. 'Wh-wh-"

       She squeezed her eyes shut a moment.

      "I found a way to taste you," his voice seemed to whisper right in her ear.

      Molly's head dropped back and her legs fell open as the tasting of her sex continued. What felt like a tongue lapped and teased her clit. Over and over it delved inside and stroked upwards. She clawed at the table and thrust her hips forward into air. The pleasurable assault on her senses continued. She thought fleetingly that she must look like a woman possessed writhing atop the table. As the stimulation continued, she lost track of time. She did not know if an eternity or an instant passed until the phantom tongue flicked at her with such a fervency she could not forestall her orgasm. She felt a tightening and a winding of her insides into a coil, then it snapped. Like a crack of taut strands releasing, she shuddered and came. Her legs tensed and her hips jerked upwards for several pulses. 

      "Ah!" she cursed. "Ummmm."

      As her ecstasy faded she became aware of her surroundings again. She limply raised her head to take stock of the Horseman. He had fully disrobed by that point and his cock jutted from his hips, firm and ready. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the unblinking gape of the Minister but her attention quickly returned to her dark tormentor. She felt an aftershock of her release when he stepped between her legs and coarse hairs tickled the inside of her thighs.

      "Do you want more, little witch?"

      She bit her lip and nodded eagerly. 

      "Yes, y-yes, claim me, Hessian. Make m-me yours."

      In the next heartbeat, he grabbed her knees and jerked her to the end of the table where the edge of it pressed sharply into her bum. She flattened her hands on the surface to hold herself in place. His thick shaft rubbed over her wet cleft several times before he grunted, pushed her legs wide apart and slid his cock through her folds into her waiting warmth. She huffed as his decadent girth increased the pressure between her legs. Part way in, he groaned and thrust up into her, jolting her on the table top. She closed her eyes and savored the raw feel of him seated deep in her womb. She squeezed his hard, hot length and moaned. 

      The Horseman pumped. "Hmmnn, open your eyes"

      Her lids fluttered open. Her breath hitched at his lusty gaze.

      "Look at the Minister," he murmured.

      Breathlessly, Molly turned her head on the table top to see the statue and his wide, dark eyes. The Horseman stroked in and out of her slick, greedy channel slowly as if ensuring she memorized every ripple of every swollen vein. She panted and struggled not to let her eyes roll back in her head. It felt so good. So very good.

      "You can see us through him, can you not?"

      Molly's belly quivered. She could imagine what they must look like. She weakly wagged her head in a nod. 

      "Keep watching him, little witch," the Horseman hastened his pace, "do not look away."

      She did as the Horseman commanded while his hard, fast thrusts caused her breasts to jerk on her chest and the table to shake under her frame. Rough timbers from the handmade table rubbed against her back and shoulders. Above her, she could hear him breathing hard and grunting. Her fingernails found a seam as he continued to drive his cock like he was plowing a field. All the while, rapid breaths scalded her lips as she viewed the Minister through a haze. The feeling of being watched sent a tremor through her body. It made her cunt throb.

      "Mmmm, hu-uh-uh, huh!" She cried as she felt a climax build from the aching friction.

      "Yes, little witch, you are mine," the Horseman growled.

       Her abdomen tightened. She was so close.

      "Say it," he exhorted, "say you are mine. Tell him."

      Molly panted. "I-I . . . I belong . . . to the . . . Horseman. Unh. . . oh, God!"

      She finally squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm lashed her like the sting of a whip. A nail broke on her middle finger as she raked them over the table top. Her entire being fractured. Her sex pulsed and spasms reverberated from her center like a clanging bell. 

      The Hessians' powerful fingers bit into her thighs when he felt her come. His strokes became savage. She heard him swear, then he let go of her legs, slammed his hands into the table and pushed her thighs wide apart in a flurry of thrusts. Finally, he groaned and buried himself to his base. His sac jerked on her bum and his member pushed his liquid release out of his shaft. She felt the spurts of it deep in her body.

      "Hmmmmmnnnnn," he moaned, "mmmmmnnnnn."

      Molly blinked up at the Horseman's body in a daze. Without thinking, she reached for him and spread her fingers over his fiery, damp flesh. He groaned again. She could feel the snaps of his pleasure releasing in his body. She ran her fingers down his muscular abdomen. Large hands closed over her wrists and she was yanked upwards. 

      Her breath caught. The Horseman's face was so much clearer than she had ever seen it before. He even appeared flushed and she swore she could see a glint of sweat. His eyes constricted.

      "I have warned you about touching me."

      Molly swallowed. "A-And?"

      He licked his tongue over his teeth. "If you cannot behave, in the future I will have you in binds."

      She exhaled a breathy sigh. Somehow, that didn't sound like a threat, more like a promise of further delights. Inside her, his cock twitched as if he had read her impure thoughts. His nostrils flared. 

      To her left, came a sudden gurgling sound. She glanced quickly to the Minister and saw him tremble and begin to move. The Horseman made an irritated grunt and withdrew from her body. A gush of warmth chased his exit. Molly curled up on the table top. Guilt and shame assailed her conscience. What had she just done? She was insane! The Horseman paced and seemed agitated.

      "I think he has been entertained long enough," he grumbled.

      The naked Hessian picked up his sword and spun it in an arc. It flashed as it whipped up and around. Molly sat up rigidly.

      "Please, do not kill him," she whispered frantically.

      The Horseman jerked his head at her. "You would have me spare him? You think he deserves mercy for what he tried to take from me?"

      "He took nothing," she said quickly, "I am yours-"

      There came a mighty roar like the bellow of a man possessed by a beast. He half turned to look at Molly. Instead of rage, she saw conflict and pain contort his face.

      "I was not referring to you!"

      In an instant, his head disappeared and he was once again, the brutish nightmare. The Horseman rose up, the muscles across his back rippled and then he swung his sword in a powerful cleave through the Minister's neck. Molly silently screamed, her vocal chords mute in shock, as the Minister's head flew from his shoulders and bounced across the wooden floorboards. His body remained upright for just a fraction of a second before he crumpled into a heap. Blood spurted from his wound over the Hessian's cloak.

       "Oh, my God!" she rasped, she couldn't breathe. "Oh, my God!"  
       The Horseman spun. His clothes lifted from a heap on the floor like they were caught in a draft and swirled around him.

       "God?" he spit as the garments melded onto his frame. "Do not expect a response from God."

        The Horseman glowered down at the body of the Minister.

       "God has abandoned his flock. He has abandoned us all to this hell on Earth."


	4. Sins of the Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this dumpster fire is outta control.
> 
> Warnings for violence and mild Molly abuse (by a third party asshat).
> 
> Warnings for extreme porny content including backdoor entry.
> 
> Like, you shouldn't read this, You shouldn't. BUT YOU WILL.

     The villagers came for Molly two nights later when the minister’s cart returned to town without its driver.  Like something out of a nightmare, dozens of men arrived with torches and muskets just as an early flurry began to fall. They hauled her out of her home to her driveway to answer for his disappearance.

     “Where is he? Where is our minister?!”

     Molly trembled in the chilly air as she gazed up into the hard glower of the ‘honorable’ Kyle DeVurges, the mayor of the village of Harmony. He was a sour-looking old coot with deep hollows in his cheeks, bushy white brows and thin, craggy lips. His white hair was pulled back severely into a tight knot at his nape. A stiff collar jutted up around his thin neck as if to add substance to his underwhelming physique. Even though he was much taller than Molly, he probably only weighed a handful more stones.

     “I . . . I do not know,” she responded meekly to his angry enquiry, “aah! Please, you are hurting me!”

     He was strong. His long fingers bit into her arm like ropes lashed too securely.

     “Tell us where the minister is or we will hang you right here, Mrs. Hooper!”

     Molly glanced around wildly. Truth was, she _did_ know where Minister Moriarty was buried. She had dug his shallow grave herself beneath an ancient, twisted oak just past her garden after the horseman had disappeared into an unearthly fog. A tremor wobbled her legs. They would hang her regardless if they elicited a confession once they discovered that mound. Her only hope was to lie.

     “Truly, I-I do not know where he is, Mayor,” she stammered, “yes, he was so kind as to offer a ride in his carriage b-but he delivered me here without incident. The l-last I saw of him . . .”

      _“Was his decapitated body as I shoveled earth upon him . . .”_

Molly gulped back the truth. “H-He was journeying back to town. He whistled a happy tune. H-Has no one seen him?”

      The mayor sneered and snapped his fingers over his shoulder. When a shorter, stout fellow rushed forward with a sack, her hopes sank faster than an anchor into a lake. In the harrowing commotion of that night, she had forgotten that her groceries had been abandoned in the bed of the cart. Mayor DeVurges wrenched her towards the canvas sack and shook her violently.

      “Are these not the items sold to you by the shop keep Mr. Van Buren?”

       Molly’s lip quivered. “Y-Yes . . . yes but after further thought I f-felt I could not accept them from the minister and asked he keep them for himself. It d-d-did not seem appropriate to accept such a gift from an unmarried man.”

      Fury lit the Mayor’s face. She swore she saw flames deep in the depths of his eyes before he raised his arm. She steeled herself for his looming blow but still saw stars when his open hand cracked across her cheek and jaw. Pain erupted in her face. She tasted the saltiness of her own blood in her mouth where her teeth impacted the inside of her cheek.

      “How dare you besmirch the minister’s reputation by implying he might have ulterior motives where you are concerned. He would never lower himself to your level, you little harlot! Now, tell us what has happened to him-”

       Before Molly could reply, a pair of young men rounded the side of her home.

       “Mayor,” one of them called anxiously, “we have searched everywhere. The minister is not here but we have found something, possibly a grave!”

      She prayed. For the first time in a long time, Molly Hooper prayed for deliverance as she was dragged along with the angry men towards the oak. The wrath marring each of their faces was even more frightening lit by the flames of their torches and dull glow of their lanterns. Shadows leaped and danced over their features like demons celebrating a coup. When they reached the place where she had buried the minister, she was thrown down to her knees at the edge of the disturbed soil.

      “What will we find here, Mrs. Hooper?” the mayor’s words dripped like scalding oil from his lips.

     Molly shook as she faced her doom. Then, something caught her attention. She bit her lip as her eyes darted back and forth. The site did not look the same as she had left it. The mound was broken up and messy as if it had been tilled and turned over.

       “Aack!” she cried as she was pulled to her feet by her hair.

      “What lies there, wench?”

      For the first time that evening, she did not lie. “I-I . . . do not know.”

     Mr. DeVurges swore and shoved her aside. “Someone fetch a spade so we can uncover this deception!”

     A few men lit off and one quickly returned with the shovel she kept her ramshackle garden shed. She braced herself as he dug while the rest of the party crowded around. He dug long past the point she had buried the minister. A shocking reality settled in. His body was gone! Someone or . . . _something_ had taken him, head and all. She wanted to vomit. When it became obvious nothing would be found, the mayor grabbed Molly again. His spit flew at her as he spoke. Snowflakes mixed with the steam of his fetid breath.

     “This is not the end, Mrs. Hooper. As of now, you are under arrest until the minister is found.”

          *   *   *

     Molly paced inside her cell in the village’s gaol. It was the only way to keep warm in the small space with its stone walls, thatched roof and dirt floor. Mayor DeVurges had tossed her in the confinement without food or drink almost as soon as they reached town.  She paused and gazed out the narrow slat no wider than her hand that constituted the room’s only window. The early snow continued to fall lazily, covering the ground with a thin film.

     She had been in the room for only a few hours but it had felt like an eternity. The village was quiet, it was quite late and everyone was fast asleep. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought about the families snuggled warmly in their beds. That had been all she ever wanted - a safe, warm, loving home to call her own. She cursed herself. Had she just had a little more fortitude and a little less pride, she would not have ended up in this place. She might have found a second husband to marry had only she been good and pious. Instead, she had let heartbreak and loneliness drive her to do immoral, wicked things and consequently bring about the death of a good man.

      Molly dropped to her knees with her face in her hands. She did not know how long she stayed in that position when the cell’s door thumped at her back. She jumped up and backed away from it as it shook on its hinges again. Then, with a final crack as if someone whacked at it with an axe, it split down the center and broke apart. On the other side stood the headless horseman.

     “Come, little witch,” his deep voice reverberated off the walls of her prison, “this is no place for you.”

     If someone had told Molly Hooper two months previous that she would be grateful for the appearance of a headless demon, she would have laughed in their face. Yet, there she stood, relieved to see his gruesome form. She took a deep breath and shuffled forward. The horseman grabbed her wrist when she crossed the room and jerked her up against his chest. Instantly she was warmed by his fiery frame and almost set ablaze as if he enveloped her in heat. She could not believe he had come for her. She swallowed and tentatively raised her eyes. His ghostly head materialized, more substantial than she had ever seen it. His skin positively glowed. His dark eyes glinted.

     Molly startled when large fingers reached up and stroked her cheek. His eyes narrowed to fearsome slits. A crease formed between his heavy brow. His plump lips curled in disgust.

     “Who did this to you?” he growled.

     She trembled at his touch. For the first time, his soft caress elicited something gentler within and her heart fluttered.  There must be a faint bruise on her face, she mused, and her dark lover was . . . affected by it? His concern was disconcerting. Still, she shook her head. Even though she hated the mayor with a passion for what he did, she did not want to be responsible for another death. She stayed silent.

     The horseman pressed a hand into her lower back. His fingers tensed. Anger transformed his features.

     “Who did this?!”

     Molly shook her head more vigorously and closed her mouth tight. With a huff, the hessian stormed from the gaol with her in tow. He tromped towards his mount pawing at the ground near the pillories in the town’s square. There, he released her and stalked around her as the snow fell onto his shoulders. His face flickered in and out of view.

     “Little witch, you will tell me who struck you or I will raze half this village.”

      Again, Molly wagged her head. For whatever reason, she did not believe he would carry through with his threat. Her blood rushed through her system. She loved the possessive, perturbed timber of his voice. The horseman stepped forward with intent.

     “If you do not tell me, I will . . . _punish_ you,” his voice rumbled.

     She felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.

     “Punish me?” she repeated, licking her lips. “Maybe I deserve to be punished.”

     The horseman’s shoulders squared. His great, black cloak swished around his calves. Then, he flicked his fingers and one of the pillories behind him popped open with a creak. Molly’s heart thumped erratically.

     “One. Last. Chance, little witch.”

     She signalled her intent to disobey him with the slow, back and forth wag of her head. Next thing Molly knew, he tugged her to the wooden pillory. His chest heaved with breaths that spurted from his neck wound. Once more, the hessian’s head disappeared and left only his headless frame.

     “Bend over and put your neck there,” his voice hissed.

     She raised a brow. His finger jabbed at the block. More than a little excited, Molly slunk to her knees and then leaned over the pillory with its notches for her neck and wrists. She scooted forward and placed her chin over the rough, cold wood so that she was staring at the snowy ground

     “Now your hands,” the horseman ground out.

     One by one, she put her wrists into the divots.

     _SLAM!_

She quaked as the upper half of the pillory block closed over her neck and wrists. She heard a latch click into place. Anxiousness twisted her insides. She tugged her arms and found they were held fast by the wood. What had she just subjected herself to, she wondered nervously? She was in the middle of the village, shackled, and on her knees. She rattled at her confines again. Behind her, a drawn-out murmur of satisfaction reverberated from the horseman. She stilled.

     “H-How are you going t-to punish me?” she whispered, vapors puffed from her lips.

     “Let us begin with a lashing,” his voice vibrated in her ears.

      Molly sucked in a breath when she felt the flip of her skirts upwards. The horseman pushed them up further and bunched them around her ribs. He yanked at her drawers, popping the seam down the back, and let them fall down around her knees. Her backside prickled with goosebumps in the cool, night air. She felt the sting of a snowflake land on her cheek before it melted and dripped down the curve of her bum.

     The frenetic fever of lust and lunacy overtook her mind. She knew she should be screaming and resisting at the prospect of being taken in the middle of the village while shackled, but she was completely bewitched by the horseman’s carnal intentions. In some ways, she thought she might be under a hedonistic spell. Yet, if she had to admit it, the only spell she really seemed to be under was that of her own depraved needs.

     “Ummmm, little witch, you never disappoint me,” the horseman murmured as his hands found her bare hips, “this excites you?”

     Molly arched her back and pushed her bum up. “Y-Yes.”

     He pressed a finger against her clit and began to rub it gently. Molly moaned and spread her legs. Her breaths came hot and heavy as he teased her sex. She tightened her canal in reaction, already imagining the feel of him there. Arousal flushed her insides. His finger glided through her folds and she could feel her ready slickness transfer to his digits.

     A hand slid up her back and then his hard shaft pushed up against her posterior.

     “Are you ready for your first lashing?” He smacked her bum lightly and kneaded her cheek.

     Molly tried to push back but the pillory held her firm. His kneading parted her bum cheeks. Several more snowflakes stung her flesh and dripped down the seam of her arse. She whimpered.

    “Please, please,” she pleaded with him.

     “Hmmnn.”

     The horseman rubbed his head into her cleft. Then he pushed forward, gripped her hips and entombed himself in her cunt. Her shoulders jolted into the pillory and her knees dug into the earth. She bit back a heady cry. As always, the way he filled her was satisfying in a way that made her want to weep. His girth stretched her in every direction and made the folds of her cleft pull taut around him.

     “Aaah, little witch, your body is heaven,” her hessian groaned.

     Thus began his lashings. One by one, they came, slow at first so that she could feel every inch of him slide into her body. Then, like a torturer intent on driving home his punishment, he increased his whips.

     “Call for me,” he urged, “I want to hear you plead for me.”

     Molly swallowed back her pleasure. She was still very aware of their exposure as more snowflakes landed upon her heated flesh. She could not ignore the walls of the homes around them. Even though the thought of people peering at them from their windows caused her juncture to throb, she worried about being caught copulating with the demon. The horseman grunted when she remained silent and shortened his strokes. His thrusts jerked her whole body at such a pace she felt her wrists chafe in her binds. Pressure on her neck from the wood set her limbs quivering. His plunder made it hard to maintain focus. She was so close to relieving the ache where his member pumped. So very close. It was all she could do not to sob with gratification.

     “I want to hear you, little witch, sing for me!”

     Still, she bit her lip. With a gruff curse, the horseman buried himself deep into her chamber, shuddered and came. She squeaked in protest and wiggled her hips. He had finished! His cock spurted its hot release into her body. She clenched around his pulsing shaft and pushed back on it but it was not enough. She needed more to reach completion.

     “MMPH!” She harrumphed in aggravation.

     The pillory popped open and sprang apart. Before she knew what was happening, her hessian scooped her up and walked her to the flogging post, a tall column made from the thick trunk of a fir tree. He lowered her down to her feet, pushed her back against the pole and lifted her hands above her head until she was stretched out. Then, he tied her wrists with the rope hanging from the top of the column.

     “You will sing for me,” he promised in a deep, intent tone.

     Molly’s feet barely touched the ground, she was on her tip toes. The horseman tugged down the front of her dress, exposing her nipples to the air, rucked up her skirts and lifted her up against the pole with his hands under her bare cheeks. By this time, his ejaculate had slicked down the inside of her thigh. She licked her lips. What was he going to do? The anticipation was excruciating. The hessian reached down, gathered as much of his seed with his fingers and began to rub it between the halves of her rear. A finger swirled around her sphincter. She gasped.

     “O-Oh,” she whispered, “oh, good lord, do you mean to . . . ?”

     “I mean to make you wail, witch,” he rumbled.

     The blunt end of him prodded that same spot then. She sucked air in between her teeth. He did mean to possess her there . . . in the most sinful of her orifices. She quavered in his arms from a new kind of excitement. Then, he let her weight sink down with the wide column at her back and the rope securing her wrists offering some support. She felt an immense pressure and conflicting sensations. She writhed against the post. There was an urge, not unlike her natural urges, but also a hedonistic feeling that she could not wrap her mind around. Onwards, he pushed until she thought she might tear apart. Then, her tightness gave way with a sting and a breathless invasion.

     “Huh, huh, huh,” she panted the farther he penetrated.

     Her cunt, even though it was empty, felt tight. It pulsed and infused with arousal. Then, it swelled as he finally buried his rigid manhood deep in her arse. His thick base stretched her rim that little bit more. She gulped thickly, closed her eyes and rested her head back on the post. She could not reconcile the strange, lurid, debauched fill of him. His was a foreign, unrelenting presence that shook her from her head to her toes.

     “Cry your pleasure for me,” he groaned and thrust.

     “Mmmm, uuuuuuunnnnh!” she erupted as the possession wreaked havoc on her faculties.

     The horseman lifted her up and then drove back into her bum. Her sensitive skin felt every detail of him slide past her delicate opening.

     “Aaaaaaaahhh, oooooh, god!” She cried.

     Her voice echoed off the walls of the square. She could no longer contain herself. As he started thrusting upwards, lifting her with each retraction, she assisted him by pulling at her binds above her head. The decadent friction drove everything else from her mind. All she wanted was more, more of him possessing her there, plundering that secret place. In short order, her screams of satisfaction filled the night sky. The throb between her legs increased to an unbearable tension deep into her abdomen. The apex of her sex nearly sang out its own tune.

     “Unh! Unnnh! Pleeease!” she begged.

     “More?”

     “Yes! More, moooore!”

     The horseman slammed upwards at a breakneck pace. Her frame jerked in his arms, her feet bounced in the air. Molly only withstood a few more strokes before a snowflake landed on her exposed nipple. That sharp burn was the catalyst that set her off. She shrieked as the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced exploded from her core. Her stomach muscles went rigid while her legs went to mush. Her hessian gripped her backside and thrust up a final stroke before once again, he let go with his second orgasm. A long, loud groan preceded the strain and twitch of his rod. She felt the flex of his muscles along his member and the push of fluid through its tube. Several times it spurted until it softened.

     In the distance, she became cognisant of voices shouting. The horseman’s cock twitched one last time before he pulled out and let her feet down. She fought for breath as he hastily refastened his trousers. Both her cavities felt spent and raw. His seed seeped from each. She blinked at his beautiful face. His skin was luminous. Snowflakes clung to his curls. When he unfastened her binds she dropped a hand quickly and was shocked to feel the silky softness of his locks between her fingers.

     “Y-Your h-hair . . .”

     The horseman jerked his head away and heaved her up into his arms.

     “Stop. Just stop it.”

     He whistled and his mount thundered up to them. The horseman thrust her up on his saddle and then swung behind her. With a kick, they were away.  

    

    

    


	5. Carnality's Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is either going to be the worst thing you've ever read or the best. Remember, you've signed on for erotica, not just a Sherlolly story. I apologize for nothing.
> 
> So, yes, there is smut after the second cut and it features a certain former friend of the Horseman. If you aren't comfy with a little three-way action featuring Sherlock's bff John, you better skip this installment. 
> 
> HOWEVER, if you are brave, you will be rewarded. Don't take this too seriously, my dears, it's all for fun.

       Molly jolted awake at the sudden lurch of the Horseman's massive steed coming to an abrupt stop. She clutched to her Hessian's frame as his anxious mount pranced sideways and pawed at the ground. She groaned, snuggled closer to his warmth and tried to wrap his cloak tighter around her shoulders. Still, she shivered. The snow had become so thick and heavy that it fell like wet leaves. She could feel its chill soaking through the Horseman's wool cloak onto her shoulders as well as into her hair. Her scalp prickled at the edges of her crown where it wasn't already numb.

      "Stop! Stop, demon, come no further!" a voice called out from a distance.

      Molly's breath hitched at the Englishman's fearful tone. Arms constricted around her as she heard the tell-tale ratchet of a musket flint being pulled into place. Again, the huge beast beneath her and the Horseman danced on the spot while expunging agitated snorts. She peeked out from her cocoon to see a tall, lean rider on a tawny mare across a clearing. Under the brim of a black hat with a silver buckle glinted the rounded eyes of a man shakily wielding his weapon. She swallowed. The Hessian’s chest swelled. When she looked up, she saw the collar of his cape but nothing more. He was in his most horrifying form, steeled for battle.

     “H-Horseman?” she whispered.

     In the next instant, his face flashed into place and he gazed down at her with a calm set to his ghostly features. Snow fell right through the top of his head and sizzled on his wound. His glowing eyes slid over her face akin to a caress. Her breath caught at the unexpected softness in his eyes. 

     “Do not fear, little witch, I will not allow any harm to come to you.”

     Her heart skipped a beat at his assurance. Her tongue became thick in her mouth. She could not spur it to form a reply.

     "My g-god, your face," the man cried out across the way, "brother, is that you?"

      Her Hessian’s phantom head snapped up.

     “I am not your brother,” the Horseman growled.

     The man raised the barrel of his musket, it jittered in his hands. "Then why do you torment me with his likeness? Why are you here?"

     The Horseman flipped his cloak from Molly’s shoulders. In the darkness, she saw the whites of the man’s eyes enlarge.

     “Y-You have a passenger.”

     “She requires shelter,” the Horseman muttered, “something I cannot provide.”

     "Wh-Who is she?"

     The Horseman grunted. The vibration rumbled through Molly’s back.

     “I cannot answer your questions.”

     "Sherlock-"

     "Do not speak that name!" the Horseman roared.

      Molly trembled in her seat. His hand fell to her hip momentarily. His fingers tensed and relaxed as if he was uncertain about his next actions.  

     “Hmm, I beseech you, Mycroft Holmes," his other-worldly voice rumbled, "please, protect this woman."

     For a few moments there was a charged silence. Finally, the man lowered his musket. The Horseman looked up towards the home on the hill behind him to where a pink glow from the impending sunrise lightened the night sky.

     “My time here wanes,” her Hessian’s intoned in a cryptic voice, "you must take her now."

     The man urged his mare forward. "Wh-What about you?"

     With a fizzle, the apparition of the Horseman’s head disappeared. His mount jerked as if he were throwing back his own non-existent head.

     “I belong to the darkness," his voice reverberated, echoing within itself.

    Molly began to shake her head as the other man acquiesced and made room. She did not want to be parted from the Horseman and tried to hold tight to him but the brute cursed, grabbed her and heaved her onto the saddle in front of the stranger. The Horseman's steed turned in an angry circle and stamped its feet as if it too did not agree with her departure. Her dark lover squared his shoulders.

     “Horseman-!”

     Her plea fell on deaf ears. With a snap of his reins, the Horseman’s great monster of a mount reared up and flailed its hooves. A ghoulish, warbling whinny pierced the air and the pair thundered off; the snow closed around them like curtains. Molly covered her mouth to suppress a cry as they retreated. As if sensing her distress, her new companion urged her to lean back on him.

     "Hush, now, Miss," he said shakily, "I will take care of you."

 

**********************************

     Molly glanced out her bedroom window as first a cloud shifted and then a flare of sunshine bathed the expansive ground of the Holmes estate. The early autumn snow had largely melted back from the storm a few days previous and the gardens beckoned for a walk. She set her pen down on the small, french writing desk and rose from her seat. She had spent several days confined to her room and even though it was large and finely appointed, it was still very much a gilded cage. Mycroft Holmes' idea of protection was hiding her away in a largely unoccupied wing of his mansion with a sentry stationed outside her door. She understood his reticence to allow her to wander about and didn't disagree with him in theory, but she was going a bit stir crazy.

     Her mind made up, she quickly pulled on a pair of boots and grabbed a shawl. She frowned down at her ridiculous, pale green dress borrowed from Mycroft's wife, Mrs. Holmes. It was a fussy garment replete with flounces, pearl buttons, puffed sleeves and a high lace collar. Worst of all, it required the support of a boned corset and underskirt with stacked ribs over her derriere to fill out the large bustle at the back. She briefly thought about changing but decided against the arduous process. She would just try to be careful not to soil the hem too much - that is, if she was even allowed to take a stroll.

     When she cracked the door and peeked into the corridor beyond, her hopes increased. The large armchair across the hall was empty. She slipped from her room and padded swiftly towards the service stairs. 

     "Good day, Mrs. Hooper, sneaking out, are you?" 

      Molly's shoulders tensed at the familiar voice. She heaved in a breath as steps approached. When she peered sideways, she met the chagrined gaze of her personal chaperone. 

     "Ah, hello, Mr. Watson," she mumbled, "I was just heading outdoors for some exercise."

     His brows twitched up slightly and dark blue-grey eyes glinted knowingly. For a moment, he regarded her with his lips poked sideways. Then, he glanced around surreptitiously.

     "Well, it is a beautiful day . . .shall we?" he held out his arm.

      Molly blinked several times. "A-Are you certain?"

      He smiled. "My duty at present is to protect you, Mrs. Hooper. I have no wish to keep you confined."

      She dipped her head and took his arm. Mr. Watson led her past the service stairs, down through the library and outside into the gardens. She had met him soon after she had arrived and learned that he was Mycroft Holmes' estate manager and a former friend of his younger brother, Sherlock. _Sherlock._ She still could not believe her Horseman had a name.

     Molly and Mr. Watson walked together for some time without exchanging a word. Unfortunately, it seemed there would be no break from her tumultuous thoughts nor a respite from the purgatory of facing an uncertain future. She did not notice any of the scenery in her ruminations until they reached the edge of a small lake and stopped to rest under an apple tree. Eager for a distraction from her depressing situation, she studied the lonely fruit tree. Most of its fruit had long since been harvested but a few apples remained high up in the furthest branches.

     "Fancy a treat?" Mr. Watson asked.

     Molly pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders. "Surely they are no longer edible."

     He smirked. He was quite a pleasant fellow, truth be told. Yes, there was sorrow about him as his wife had died some years previous from a fever, but his eyes shone with a kind of energetic light. She watched him scramble up the trunk of the tree, climb a few branches and reach for the wayward apples. Molly's hands flew to her mouth when he appeared to slip.

     "Oh, for God's sake, do not fall!"

     He winked down at her once he snatched the first apple. "Why? Would you be upset?"

     She crossed her arms. "Not at all!"

     Mr. Watson laughed and picked a second apple before shimmying down the tree and jumping to the ground. He wiped the apples on his shirt and offered one to her. When she didn't immediately grab it, his expression took on a kind of faux pout.

     "Come, cannot I tempt you?" he wagged his brows.

     She smiled in spite of herself. "Are you trying to land me in trouble?"

     His brow raised. "What do you mean?"

     She crooked her head sideways and cracked a joke. "Here we are in the Garden of Eden and you've just slithered from an apple tree and offered me its forbidden fruit. These kind of things never end well."

     Mr. Watson chuckled. 

     "Ah, I see," he murmured, "well, I assure you this is worth the risk."

     Molly grinned and grabbed the small apple. She raised it to her mouth to take a bite but paused just before she put her teeth to it. Mr. Watson seemed to realize he was staring and glanced down. She felt a strange twinge in her gut and then flushed. Dear God, she thought, his regard was a bit affecting. She took a bite of her surprisingly sweet and juicy apple and spun back towards the lake; her skirts swished around her legs. Warmth infused her face as her mind drifted to the village square and the hedonistic pleasure she had experienced with the Horseman - as well as the possibility that people had seen their display. Something in the way Mr. Watson looked at her made her want to experience the leer of eyes on her body again. Only, she wanted more than a passive glassy stare as she'd had when Minister Moriarty was frozen.

      Molly let out an inflamed breath. She shouldn't have such thoughts! Yet, such wicked ideas intruded into nearly every waking moment when she wasn't lamenting about her future as if they were a dye seeping into linen. Time apart from the Horseman became more and more excruciating. All she could think about was the countless ways he might stake his claim over her and in turn, how she might do the same. 

      "Are you thinking about him?" Mr. Watson asked softly at her side.

      Her breath caught at the unexpected question. "Wh-What?"

      "Are you thinking about my friend, Sherlock Holmes?"

      Molly's face flamed. "Yes."

      Mr. Watson sighed. "I am still trying to reconcile that Mycroft has known he was the Horseman all along. I cannot fathom why he would keep that from me and everyone else except perhaps he thought he was protecting us all, his brother included."

      She dipped her head. The master of this particular estate harbored many secrets. He had shared nothing of his knowledge of his little brother's fate with her either even though she had shared her meagre information. Instead of reciprocation, once he had learned all he could from her, he essentially banished her to the east wing of his mansion.

      "D-Does Mr. Holmes know what happened to your friend?" she prodded.

      Mr. Watson shook his head. "I thought not, but now . . . I cannot be certain. Whatever truth he possesses, he holds it close to his chest."

      Molly gulped back a sudden lump of misery in her throat. "I wish I knew how he came to be in limbo. I think I could help dispel the curse."

      "Do you really?" 

      She nodded. "A curse is just dark magic used to tie up a soul. One needs only to know how the knot is formed to undo it."

      "Christ! What would happen then?"

      She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "I imagine he would finally find peace."

      Mr. Watson's lips turned down. "You mean, he would properly die. He would not rise again?"

      Molly dashed away a tear. "Y-Yes, most likely."

      He cursed and kicked a rock into the lake. It landed with a plunk and a splash.

      "Aarg, sorry," he coughed, "I am just at a loss. I feel as if I made my peace with his death some years ago after he disappeared. Yet, he walks still and there is much I would like to say to him but . . it is not him either. The Horseman is just an evil abomination wearing my friend like a costume."

      "N-No," she protested, "he is not evil, I swear to you. He has not harmed me-"

       Mr. Watson's brows shot up. "Mrs. Hooper, I- . . .Christ! There is no delicate way to speak of this but, lord help me, he has done to you what most men would do given the kind of unnatural powers he has obtained. He follows naught but his base instincts and imbibes in the most grievous of sins. The proof being that his seduction has marked you for death. That is the work of the devil-"

       Molly's half-eaten apple slipped from her shaking grasp. She slapped a hand to her chest, she couldn't breathe for a few seconds.    

      "You have no authority to speak thusly!" she panted as she backed away. "You have not seen what I have seen. You do not know what I know. He is not evil, Mr. Watson, h-he is not!"

      "Mrs. Hooper!'

      However, Molly was already running back towards the Holmes' manor. She could not listen to another word. She already suffered doubts and was afraid she might be swayed by Mr. Watson's beliefs about her Horseman. She did not want to entertain the idea that he was beyond redemption because if that was true, then it was true for herself as well.

     **************************************

     Molly turned over, restless in her bed. Sleep was elusive, she kept drifting in and out of the most lurid fantasies. She sat up at the distant sound of a horse's whinny but she wasn't sure if it was the echo of a dream or a distant reverberation from outside. She held her breath for a few moments as she glanced around her moonlit room. A slight draft fluttered the gauzy canopy of her bed. Once again she heard the faint peal of a steed's cry. She stumbled out of bed and then tripped over the hem of her nightdress on the way to her window. Almost immediately she saw a headless figure pacing beneath an ancient oak. He stopped as if sensing her gaze, his shoulders turned towards her and then he whirled and stalked away into the shadow of a thick grove. 

     "Wait," Molly whispered, "oh god, do not leave!"

     She scrambled into some slippers and slipped into a dressing gown. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. When she peeked outside her room, she saw John Watson snoring in his armchair covered by a blanket. She pulled open the door and winced as it whined on its hinges. Mr. Watson snorted and turned sideways to rest on his hands but did not wake. As deftly as possible, Molly padded past him and made her way downstairs. Once she exited the Holmes' mansion through the east foyer, she sprinted after her Hessian as if her life depended on it. The chilly air prickled her throat and burned her lungs as she ran. Her hair flew back with abandon. 

     "Ooph! Ow!" she hissed as her toe stubbed against a root just shy of the trees from wherein the Horseman's form disappeared.

     Molly limped forward into the grove. "H-Horseman?"

     She searched the mottled grove for any sign of him. The streaks of moonlight through the trees did little to highlight the inky shadows and depths of the tree stand. 

     "Horseman? Are y-you here?"

     She hobbled forward into a small gap in the trees where the light streamed down from the nearly full moon. She wanted to cry. The area was as quiet as a grave save for the branches above her rattling in a breeze. She was about to turn back when a shadow shifted and the hulking figure of her Horseman stepped into the clearing. Her breath seized in her lungs when his head materialized atop his shoulders. His curls glinted like polished ebony; his skin glowed like the moon's reflection off a lake. He was so ethereally beautiful, she almost choked up. She longed to cradle his face in her hands; to brush her thumbs over his high cheeks and stern brow. His eyes narrowed as he studied her intently.

     Molly curled her toes in her thin slippers. She rubbed her arms to ward off the night's cold. His chin lifted.

     "Come to me," his commanded in a deadly soft voice.

      She gulped and shuffled towards him. When she stood under his chin and peered up, she could see the fine lines on his face and the slight irregularity of a dark spot in his right iris. 

       "Horseman," she began, then had a thought, "Sh-Sherlock, I-"

       His eyes darkened furiously. His head twitched as a deep scowl marred his features.

       "Do not address me thus," he growled.

       "But that is your name-"

       He stepped towards her menacingly. "A warning, little witch. Speak that moniker again and I will gag you."

       Molly trembled but remained steadfast. "You are not my master, Sherlock Holmes. I will call you what I please."

       He grunted and in the next moment, he scooped her against him and whipped the sash from her dressing gown. His eyes glinted dangerously as they slid over her face. 

       "You are being disobedient again, little witch," he muttered, "you know the punishment."

      "Yes," she swallowed and whispered, "yes, I-I do."

       "Hmmnn," he rumbled before turning and marching her to the nearest tree.

       His great weight pressed her against the trunk from behind. She felt his heated breaths move her hair. Then, he flicked the sash over her head.

       "Open your mouth," he rumbled.

       Molly's lips parted. Then, she felt the sash pulled against her lips and wedge between her teeth before it was knotted securely at the back of her head. Instantly, her insides flushed. The gag was mildly uncomfortable yet she was aroused beyond belief. The Horseman gathered some of her hair and the sash in his hand and pulled her head back gently. Her hair strained at her roots. Again, she experienced a deep quiver in her loins. 

      "Mmm, what say you now, woman?"

      Molly let out a muffled whimper and a plea for more. Her flesh piqued all over. She wanted his punishment, of course. She needed to feel his wrath upon her body. The Horseman wasted no time yanking the robe down from her shoulders and tearing her nightdress from her body. The freezing air goose pimpled every inch of her flesh as the garments fell to the ground. Her nipples tightened in excruciating pleasure from the cold. A large hand pushed her forward again and she had to brace herself on the rough bark of the tree. In the next moment, a hand kneaded her backside and a knee nudged her legs apart. She moaned through the gag and arched her back. She felt another tug on her lips and hair from the sash before a blazing hot cock slid between her thighs. The rigid, scalding flesh rubbed back and forth over her cleft. His torso rocked against her backside.

      "Mmph," she grunted, "mmph."

      "You want me, little witch?"

      "Mmm!" she nodded vigorously.

      A large leather boot urged her stance to widen. She shuffled her feet apart and felt the throb of an engorged helmet pushing her folds apart. Then, the Horseman fisted her hair with one hand while pushing on the small of her back with his other and plunged inside her body. Her nails clawed against the trunk, scraping off bits of it as he jerked her forward. His invasion felt like the plunder of a white-hot stake into her sex. She sobbed at the pleasure of feeling him again and gaining a measure of relief for her empty ache. He groaned in guttural satisfaction at their joining as well; his deep, vibrating tone filled the grove. Then he began to thrust and she was enslaved to the deliriously addictive friction and pressure of his cock sliding in and out of her cunt.

      Molly felt a strange awareness after a few moments and turned her head towards the clearing. She blinked at the outline of a man. Her breath caught when he stepped forward. Their eyes met. John Watson stared at her in stunned silence. A tremor wracked her body at the expansion of his pupils. She bit at her gag and pushed back on the Horseman's shaft as he rutted into her. Then she closed her eyes and moaned with the next stroke. She hadn't entirely formed her thoughts earlier in the day but in an instant, her desires made sense. She had wanted exactly this - John Watson as a witness. When she opened her eyes again, Mr. watson held a shaking flint-lock pistol aloft.

      "Release her, you beast!" he cried.

      The Horseman's thrusts slowed but did not stop. Molly was not apprehensive for some reason, she felt only an incensed lust.

      "I said, 'release her'!" Mr. Watson repeated in a frightened tone.

      The Horseman's hand shot up from her back towards John. His finger stretched. The gun lurched from John's grasp like it was grabbed by an unseen force. The firearm flew towards the coupled pair and skidded to a stop at Molly's foot.

      "My little witch does not want to be released," her Hessian growled, "she seeks _release_."

      Their fornication did not stop. His hard flesh continued to drive into Molly's body. She felt the knot of her gag loosened and it fell down around her neck.

       "Tell him," the Hessian murmured as he leaned over.

       Molly's eyes mets Mr. Watson's again. She rubbed her lips together and blinked slowly. 

       "Please . . . John," she breathed as another thrust jerked her forward, "unh, please . . ."

       She did not know what she asked for in that moment but suddenly, she coveted _more_. Her animalistic needs swirled within her like an elixir. John shook his head several times as if trying to clear it. When he looked at her again, his lips were parted. His chest heaved. 

       "This . . . this is . . . madness. It is wicked temptation. I c-cannot-"

       "Do as my witch desires," the Horseman murmured, "come to her."

       John gulped. His eyelids fluttered but he drifted closer. Molly licked her lips in anticipation. Her insides coiled. She almost felt the stirrings of an orgasm but the Horseman withdrew, gathered her arms back and held her back against his chest. Her breasts were thrust up for John's rounded gaze as the Horseman's cock pressed hard between her cheeks. Her whole form trembled as John stopped mere inches away. Her core clenched. She ached again. The needy throb between her legs was almost painful.

        "Mrs. Hooper . . . Molly," John rasped, "wh-what would you have me do?"

        A breath feathered past her lips. "Kiss me . . . hu-uh, touch me."

       On her bum, the Horseman's cock seemed to grow harder still. His hand slipped over her belly to the juncture at her thighs. John swallowed another large lump in his throat before his hand reached out and spread over her stomach just above where the Horseman rubbed her clit. He slid his hand higher, cupped her breast and rolled a nipple between his fingers. Just as Molly sighed, he ran a tongue over his own lips and dropped his open mouth to hers. His other hand cupped her free breast and did the same as his lips moved over hers hungrily. She wriggled between the two men in delicious agony. John thrust his tongue into her mouth at the same time her Hessian's fingers penetrated her cunt. She felt her internal tension increase again. Her limbs vibrated. She wanted it all, everything they had to give. 

       John kissed her until she was breathless and panting and then moved on to her breasts. He suckled at one, then the other, until both were damp and tightly beaded. She writhed at the dual assault on her senses. She became desperate for more. The Horseman seemed to read her thoughts and urged her down to the spongy grass of the clearing floor. By this time, John had freed himself from his trousers and he too had dropped to his knees. His fingers threaded into her hair as his own impressive erection bobbed near her lips.

      "Molly . . . mmph, hell . . . would you-?"

      She looked up at him through a groggy haze and nodded. He sucked in a breath when she opened her mouth. At her rear, the Horseman positioned himself and she twitched her bum in anticipation. Her sex was swollen with need by this time. She almost felt a pulse there was so much heated blood flowing through her groin. John's cock bumped into her lips at the same time the Horseman probed into her sex. She opened her mouth wider then and let John push inside. She whimpered ecstatically as his rippling flesh slid through her lips and the ridged edge of his head slipped over her tongue. Both men seemed to grunt and groan in unison as they viscerally possessed her from either end. Then, the Horseman surged followed by John. She was jerked forward by her Hessian's flesh while John's cock plunged to the back oh her throat. Molly gagged a bit and her body tensed, including her core. The resulting squeeze on the Horseman's cock caused him to curse aloud. She felt another shiver of excitement up her spine. What they did was ridiculously depraved, but it spurred her on.

      "Unh, little witch, mmmmmnnnnn."

      John whispered a prayer over and over. His fingers tightened on her locks. She glanced up to see his head thrown back and his expression somewhat pained. The effect she had on him made her throb all the more. When the Horseman drew out to only to thrust again, she let his propulsion drive her onto John's shaft. 

      "Oh, hell!" John cried. "Oh, Jesus!"

      Soon, a kind of see-saw rhythm ensued with Molly the implement between the two men. John loosely held her head while the Horseman pumped. Little more was needed to tip Molly over the edge. She was lost in a dizzying fog of sensation and savagery. She locked a moment in her mind, the feel of flesh straining her lips while even more flesh spread and slapped at her rear; the sounds of heavy breaths and guttural sighs; the debauched experience of being so utterly at the mercy of two men who had succumbed to their carnality. Then, her reality began to spin, her womb contracted and she screamed a muffled release. She shook so violently with a spasm that she thought she might collapse. The pleasure was like nothing she had felt previous. The ripples of her release weakened every muscle in her being.

       Neither man held on much longer. John's hips jerked and in the next heartbeat, his release spurted into her throat. She swallowed back his fluid as he moaned. Her Horseman's hands spanned her waist, he drove deep and came with a white-hot release. She felt his unnatural seed empty like a spouting fountain. John huffed, extracted his quivering manhood and fell back on his heels while her Hessian gathered her up. She turned her head. There was nothing ghostly about his appearance anymore. He was as real and present as John. Impulsively, she craned her head and sought to kiss him. At first, she only felt a tingle but then full, plump lips devoured hers as if he were a man having his last meal. His body jolted as if shocked but he continued to drink from her lips. It was in that interlude she knew he was not a demon but a man trapped by circumstance.

      "Sherlock?" John panted.

      The Horseman tore away from Molly then. He appeared bewildered for few seconds but then scowled. He released her and lumbered to his feet.

      "I am no longer that man," he roared at a confused John, "I will never be so again!"

      His brooding frown etched deeper into the lines of his face. He reached up and touched his own face. His fingers prodded flesh. He gurgled and cried out in anger. His features shifted and waned as if he were trying to rid himself of his head but it would not disappear. 

      "What have you conjured, witch?" he bellowed.

     Molly shook her head and wrapped her arms around her shivering body. "Nothing! I have cast no spells against you."

     "You lie!"

     He roared again. His clothing dragged from the Earth and rearranged itself back on his body, though reluctantly as if his magic had depleted. His giant mount trotted indecisively into the clearing. It too had a head and shook it as if he were buzzed by insects.The Horseman stumbled towards his mount and struggled onto his saddle. He cursed and pulled at his broad sword in its holster. When it proved too burdensome, he unclasped the holster from his hips and let the weapon fall to the ground. Unfettered, he finally swung into his seat and kicked his heels. His great, black steed rounded and circled the discarded sword. The Horseman huffed in frustration. Molly jumped up. John recovered her dressing gown and covered her quaking form.

     "Molly," he pleaded, "step away-"

      She wrenched from John's hold.

      "Horseman, please, I did not enchant you. Please, you must believe me!"

      Her Hessian gazed up, his eyes narrowed. "Yes, you did, little witch, and now I pay the price for my foolishness."

      Then, he was away as always. He and his mount crashed through the brush as if fleeing for their lives and the last thing she heard of him was the thundering of hooves into the night.


	6. Possessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming, sorry! This story lurches along in its depravity.....

 

 

 

 

 

     The next afternoon found Molly standing just inside of Mycroft Holmes' personal study. The sky outside the tall windows at his back were unusually grey and dark, yet the room seemed overly bright to her weary eyes. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth to conceal a yawn. The previous night's activities had sapped her of all her strength. She felt as if she could sleep for days.     

     Molly's shoulders jumped as John dropped his heavy burden on Mycroft Holmes' heavy oak desk with a clunk. Suddenly she was alert again as she remembered why they were there. Mr. Holmes sat forward with a frown.

     "What is this?"

     John drew in a breath and stepped back. "His sword."

     The furrow in the lean man's brow deepened as he flipped the shroud off the weapon and stared down at is intricately carved, black leather holster. His fingers hesitantly touched the stitching along the top of the sheath before they jumped back as if they had been seared. Mr. Holmes swallowed before his eyes flew up wildly.

     "M-My god, what does this mean? Is . . . is he dead?"

     John crossed his arms and rocked back on his feet. Molly's stomach contracted at the pink tinge of embarrassment that crossed his features before his eyes flicked to his feet. He cleared his throat.

     "Erm, well, he is not entirely among the living, is he? Ahem," John let out a heavy sigh, "but I believe he still walks among us, if that is what you meant. He dropped this last night. I do not know what that means."

     Mr. Holmes' eyes narrowed. He looked between the two of them suspiciously. Molly felt heat creep up her neck.

     "Last night?" he repeated.

    John began to stutter an explanation. Molly cut him off.

    "I saw him among the trees in your Eastern grove and went out to see him," she rushed out. "Mr. Watson followed to protect me."

    Mr. Holmes leaned back in his seat. He studied her through constricted eyes for a few seconds before raising his chin.

    "What is my undead brother's fascination with you, Mrs. Hooper?"

    Molly rubbed her arm through her sleeve. She was shy of his gaze for a moment but finally decided she was too emotionally fatigued to lie anymore.

    "I summoned him. It is my fault he rose from the dead. I did not appreciate the consequences of practicing such dark magic-"

     The sharp creak of Mr. Holmes shifting in his chair made her eyes snap up. 

     "When?" his regard seemed to pierce her soul.

     She sucked in a breath. "Some weeks ago."

     He huffed. "The Horseman has been haunting my grounds for over a year, Mrs. Hooper. Surely you have been privy to the rumors of the headless ghoul. Otherwise, you would not have called upon him. He does not walk because of you."

     Molly was struck temporarily mute. Of course she had heard the myths and legends about a headless rider terrorizing the area and that had spurred her to call for him, but deep in her heart she had never really believed those stories to be true. She thought her conjuring had actualized the demon, that somehow she had roused an innocent man from his death slumber, imbued him with evil spirits and she alone was responsible for his misery. She felt her frame convulse with a sob and slapped a hand over her mouth to contain it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John move as if to comfort her but then falter to keep up their pretences.  

     Mr. Holmes grunted as he beheld the massive broadsword again. He rose to his feet and tugged at his waistcoat. Then, with a hiss as if the contact hurt, he yanked the sword from its sheath and let it clatter back down to the desk. He hunched over and his fingers flexed on the edge of the desk. He peered at the flawless, mirror-like finish with characters of gold inlaid along each layer of the wide blade before raising red-rimmed eyes. 

     "No . . . you are not the instrument of his resurrection, yet he _is_ fascinated by you. Why?"

     Molly shook her head. "I-I do not know."

     "Hmph." Mr. Holmes shook his head.

     She could not even begin to explain the mad events that had taken place. What had started as the simple wish fulfillment of a deep, dark fantasy had become an ongoing carnal saga from which she had neither wisdom nor will from which to escape. It was as if she had removed the chock from the wheels of a carriage on a slope and then hopped aboard. She honestly had no idea if the Horseman was fascinated by her or if her magic worked unconsciously to beckon his return over and over. Perhaps she had enslaved him and were he given the choice, he would choose to be freed from her enchantment. 

     Molly experienced a tide of nausea at the thought. Bile rose in her throat and her chest hollowed out. He had said as much. Why hadn't she listened to him? In her silence, John and Mr. Holmes began to bicker about something but she was deaf to their words and consumed with guilt over her transgressions. Whatever magic kept the Horseman in his purgatory needed to be exercised and if she was to help him, she first needed to atone for her own sins. 

     That meant she had to let him go.

 

*********************

 

     "Where are you going?"

     Molly clutched her chest at the jolt of John's unexpected presence. She heaved in a breath and turned where he stood in her bedroom doorway. There was little use in fibbing about going to the library with her cloak on and its hood over her head. 

     "To the stables."

     He frowned and strode forward. "Why?"

     She squared her shoulders. "I do not owe you an explanation."

     His nostrils flared. "I am tasked with protecting you and that is what I intend to do. Molly . . ."

     His face softened as his eyes flitted back and forth over her face. He sighed.

     "He is not gentle. He is not who you wish him to be. I understand, I do. I was there and I too was intoxicated by his enchantment's ravenous charm but it has a power beyond you and I or anything mortal. It is not safe to keep indulging yourself in this, Molly."

     Molly swallowed against a lump in her throat. Her eyes burned with tears.

     "I know," she whispered, "I know. I mean to sever our connection but it is not so easily done. Magic lashed us and I must use magic to undo that tether. For this, I must perform a ritual that requires some rope."

     "Rope? A bit of rope is going to undo this mess?" he asked with a twisted brow.

     "Y-Yes, I hope so."

     It did sound absurd but Molly had little more to attempt than an unbinding spell. She had only come by her scant knowledge of the mystical through old tomes and unfortunately, her books were out of reach at her homestead. In fact, she did not even know if they yet existed. The villagers could very well have burned her small cabin down by that time. 

     John nodded. "Well, I am going with you then."

     Molly bit her lip. She was uncertain of how his presence would affect the spell. He could very well render it ineffective. For a ritual to work, she needed full control of the will and energy of her immediate area. As she ruminated, a the impression of a page flashed in her mind and she felt the pull of recall. There might be something else she could do, a different incantation, but she was not entirely sure of its prescription. As the idea formulated, there arose a vibration deep within her being. 

     "Molly?"

     She squinted at John, then let out the breath she had been holding.

     "Very well, come along then. I may have need of you after all."

 

**********************

 

      The evening autumn air was cool but not entirely unpleasant inside Mycroft Holmes' large stables. He had a fair number of horses and despite the vaulted post and beam construction of the building, there was enough body heat from his beasts to keep it a few degrees warmer than the outside air. 

     "I -ah- have some rope," John mumbled as he jiggled a few loops of braided manila, "and a knife."

     He held up a small, hooked utility blade. It was worn and a little rusty but it would suffice. Molly gestured for him to join her on some straw feed next to an empty saddle stand lit softly by a nearby lantern. John plunked down at her side and handed her the implements with a smile. When their eyes met in the dim light, the previous night's events flared in her mind. Warmth flooded her face and she quickly glanced down at her lap. 

     John coughed as if sensing her nervousness. "Mm, ahem, so what are you going to do with those?"

     She fidgeted with the rope for a tick before folding it in half and working the dull knife through the loop she made. She handed one half to John before mustering the courage to meet his gaze again.

     "The rope represents bondage, not just because of the way it can be tied but in the manner its fibers are intertwined." She began pulling apart the strands. "For the first part of this spell, we must work the braids apart. While you do so, envision their separation as weakening the ties to the Horseman. You must keep refreshing this thought in your mind as you work your way down the rope."

     "Alright." John dipped his head. "Sounds simple enough." 

     Molly closed her eyes and slipped into a sort of trance. In her internal vision, each fiber of the rope was the end of a root she coaxed from her heart. She imagined them slick and limp as she extracted them. Soon, she began to feel as if each strand tugged from her heart left a bleeding hole in its absence. The process made her chest tighten and ache. Every so often she encountered a stubborn section of rope and her heart squeezed. She had not even come close to severing her ties to the Horseman at that point but it physically hurt.

     Time passed, she didn't know how much, but then the last twist of the last strand of her rope was separated. She gasped as a deep clap of pain caused her heart to momentarily seize. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She could feel the deep, hollow despair of the Horseman's disentanglement. Beside her, John panted.

     "Christ," he wheezed, "ha-ah. Why does it feel as if I have been kicked in the chest by a mule?"

     Molly's eyes fluttered open. She pivoted her head shakily towards John. Her fingers closed around the wad of frayed strands. When his deep grey eyes found hers, she blinked back a fresh sting of tears at the pain eminating from his soul.

      "What follows?" he asked roughly.

      She laid the rope on her lap, turned up her left palm and dragged the curved end of her knife along the center until beads of blood welled up. She wrinkled her nose at his somewhat stunned expression.

     "My, ah, my apologies. I need your hand."

     His throat bobbed up and down. "Oh, yes, of course."

     She shakily scratched the same shallow groove in John's hand. He winced as the blood seeped out. She exchanged his dis-articulated rope with her own and instructed him to press some of his blood along its ragged length. In turn, she did the same. Once they were finished she gathered some courage, stood up and hovered over John for a few moments. He stared up at her in confusion.

     "Molly?"

     She inhaled a shaky breath, pulled at the cloak's tie at her throat and pushed it from her shoulders. John's eyes widened as he beheld her in her nightgown. His lips moved silently in question and then fell open as she fortified herself with another breath and tugged the thin fabric up over her head. She was paralyzed for a short while in her nakedness. The stable air instantly chilled her flesh and raised goosebumps all over her body. Even though he had seen her the previous night in the moonlight, this was different. This was for him - for his seduction. She experienced an odd mix of apprehension and excitement as well as a deep sorrow. She resisted covering herself with her hands. In a way, she felt disloyal to her Horseman, but then, what she intended to do with John was essential for her ritual to be effective. 

     "Molly? I do not understand-"

     She exhaled slowly and tilted her head so her long hair fell forward. "Do you not?"

     "B-But-"

     She lowered herself down to sit beside him once more. His anxious perusal poured over her form. He groaned as she inched closer and his eyes hooded. Despite her conflicted emotions, proximity to John heated her blood. It was as if her body was desperate to relive the previous night's licentiousness. Her sex washed with arousal.

     "I need you to possess me, John," she said huskily, "right here, right now."

     His lips puffed with a breath. "God, do not tempt me-"

     "No, no temptation. It is an imperative."

     She leaned forward until her lips were but a hair's breadth away from his own. "Did you not want more than my mouth on you last night? Did you not want to also slake your lust in my quim?"

     A muscle flecked in his jaw. He sighed and capitulated by closing the distance and kissing her greedily. His lips were immediately impatient and coaxed hers open. She moaned and submitted to his will eagerly while clawing at his clothes. She needed to be under his naked form and quickly, the incantations she had been whispering in the back of her mind were beginning to work their potent magic.

     John's clothing flew from his frame and in a matter of moments, he was atop of her in the straw. It crinkled beneath her head as his mouth and hands feverishly explored her body. His bare flesh was hot against her own. Molly reached for the ropes they had pulled apart.

     "Tie my wrists," she gasped between kisses.

     John panted on her mouth, his rigid cock strained on her belly. "What?"

     "Tie my wrists, first with one rope and then the other," she answered with ragged breaths.

    "Oh, god, why?"

     "Do it."

    John obeyed and bound her wrists with each rope. She stretched her arms towards the ceiling and then around his neck, securing herself to him. She kissed him again and spread her knees.

     "Take me," she whispered, "I am yours."

     John swore. His body shuddered. He rubbed his cock against her cleft until it was slick. Molly swallowed and closed her eyes. She both wanted his fulfillment and despaired for it. His broad head pushed her folds apart urgently. Before she could change her mind, his hips bucked and his thick shaft plunged into her womb. Molly gasped as his cock rutted deep and hard, pressing her bum into the straw. She felt some of the dry stalks poke between her cheeks.

     "Uuuunh," John groaned, "unh, lord, Molly." 

     Molly's breath huffed from her chest in scalding bursts. John was fully rooted, his hips pushed her thighs apart almost painfully with their weight. There was no taking it back, he was in possession of her body. He withdrew a bit and thrust back in. She felt the rough hemp of the rope bite into her wrists. Her sex throbbed with the pressure of his engorged flesh and the acute awareness of her cunt being occupied by someone other than her Horseman.

     "Mmmph! Mmm, god!" she cried when he began to thrust.

     Her disloyal body selfishly accepted his invasion, her chambers flushed and quickened. As he thrust again and again, she became slick from his stimulation and even began to ache. She couldn't help but clench on his cock as her cunt begged for satiation. She lost all sense of time and place as they copulated like animals in the middle of the stables. His grunts and the slapping of their flesh filled her ears.

     "Yes, yes," she urged him on as tension built within her womb, "yes."

     John groaned long and loud. His pace increased to a near frenzy. Molly felt sparks flare at her juncture.

     "Yes," she moaned into his ear, "more . . . more."

     "Oh, hell, Molly!" he swore. "I am nearly there."

     "Yes." Her orgasm also approached. "Yes, cum for me!"

     He slammed into her between huffs. Sweat made their tummies stick together. She wrapped her legs around his back and held onto him.

     "Cum for me," she begged in a heady whisper and groaned, "spill your seed in me. Fill me up."

     "Unh, unh." John's frame shook and he arched over her. "Unh!"

     He jerked into her body one final time and exploded. His cock momentarily hardened and then she felt the flexing of his length as his release sputtered into her body in pulsing waves. His hips continued to twitch as he rocked into her and her insides were coated with his fluids. 

     "Oh, go-od!" he moaned. 

     Before Molly could reconcile their joining, the doors to the stables flew open and rattled the building with a slam. She felt a blast of frigid air up her arse. John froze over her as an unearthly growl rumbled through the building. 

     "Good, God! He will have my head," John cried as he scrambled off Molly.

     Before John could back more than a few steps away, he was frozen in place by an unseen force. His eyes went glassy. Molly looked up to see the Horseman, with his head looking very much alive atop his shoulders, stalking in her direction. She sat up and scooted back up against the saddle stand. Something about him in this form made him infinitely more intimidating. His boots halted their advance just inches from her toes. She swallowed and raised her eyes anxiously. Green-blue glowing irises burned within an expression of pure rage.

     "You think you can so easily cast me off, witch?" his deep voice hummed straight through to her bones.

     Molly gulped. "I . . . I am trying to set you free."

     His lip curled. A fog of breath huffed from his nostrils like a great steed on a winter's day. She blinked several times as the edges of his form seemed to vibrate and almost blur. He reached a large hand for her and she shrank back but unexpectedly, he pulled her gently to her feet against his powerful frame.

      "My freedom is not yours to bestow," he murmured.

      Her heart thumped in her chest as she looked up at his beautiful face with its full lips and exaggerated masculinity. His pale skin glowed as if it was infused with moonlight. His dark curls glinted tantalizingly. He radiated more energy than she had ever felt before.

      "But you suffer-"

      "Not at your hands."

      "Horseman, I-I cannot stand to see you in pain-"

      His lip curled. His fingers gripped her back momentarily before he slid them around her front to her juncture. He rubbed them in her dripping cleft and probed them inside.

      "So, you sought to bind yourself to another man?" he growled. "You thought this would spare me pain?"

      She chewed her lip and groaned as his fingers delved deeper. John's seed dribbled a wet trail down the inside of her thigh. She tried to yank her wrists from the rough, separated fibers of the ropes but John had secured them too well.

      "Y-Yes, I am sorry."

       He grunted and lowered his head beside hers and breathed through her hair.

       "Well, I will not allow it," he muttered. "You are mine, little witch."

       He retrieved the small hook knife from the straw and with a grunt, raked it over his palm. Dark, almost purple blood sprang from the deep cut. He smeared to over the tethers at her wrists and then spun her to face the empty wooden saddle stand. Molly felt the firm pad of a large finger rub a trail down her spine and continue between her bum cheeks. The wet line of it tingled through her flesh. His blood! He had marked her with his blood. Behind her he shuffled and she knew he disrobed.

      "Wait," she breathed.

      But the Horseman kicked her heels apart. Her bum quivered in the air. His searing cock whacked against her bare arse. Her sex trembled and washed with heat. She looked over to where John remained a frozen spectator just like Minister Moriarty had been. Again, she felt impossibly aroused by the situation.

     "Mmmmmm, you want me," the Horseman murmured, "you want my seed to purge his weak claim. You want to be bound to me, only me."

     Molly closed her eyes, stretched her tied wrists out and leaned over the saddle stand to offer her backside up. The wood of the stand was rough against her flesh but she was consumed with thoughts of coupling with the Horseman.

     "Mmm, y-yes, you are what I want. It has always been you."

      Molly cried out as he cleaved into her dripping cunt so forcefully her hips were bruised by the stand's timbers. His fingers clamped over them and he began to thrust. He was larger and more imposing than John, but stroked easily with his rival's seed easing his passage. His thrusts came quick and punishingly as if he sought to expunge all memory of the other male's flesh.

      "Unh, oh, yes! Yessss!" Molly keened.

      The Horseman savaged her core, relentlessly pounding it until she began to feel a raw, aching friction. Then, his fingers slipped over her belly and began to rub her clit in tune with his strokes. He slowed and pressed more insistently on her throbbing nerves. 

       "Hmmmnnn, little witch, you neglected this very important part of the ritual," he leaned over her and thrust while at the same time rubbing her clit again, "you must also reach your zenith."

       Molly felt it then, her impending release. She pushed back on her dark lover and begged for him to quench her thirst. All over she felt a gathering unlike any time they had come together. Her flesh pulsed and throbbed from her head to her feet. A pleasurable ache like she had never experienced threatened to consume her insides like a fireball. He picked up his pace again and soon she was screaming for him. All around them, the animals stamped and snorted restlessly.

       Finally, she was there. She clenched on his thick member as it pumped in and came with a wrenching cry. Almost before he plunged all the way in, she felt his release transforming his flesh. With a guttural cry, he roared and searing hot ejaculate shot into her body through his rippling shaft. Deep inside she felt it coat her womb and the tingle of it stain her insides. He jerked again and another thick spurt warmed her entire cunt. The heat of it washed through her blood. 

       Even as he withdrew, she knew this time had been different. She nearly collapsed and he scooped her into his arms. The bind on her wrists seemed to wriggle apart on their own and fall to the floor. She shakily slid her arms around his neck and turned her face up to his. His lips sought hers desperately. She could feel him trembling even as he held her firmly.

      "Y-You are mine now, little witch," he rasped, "mine, only mine."


	7. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A softer side of our Horseman emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote until super late just for a great friend! Please, do go read Mizjoely's fics if you haven't before. You owe much to her support as without her, I do not know if this story would still be playing out. Cheers, all!

     The Horseman carried Molly all the way back to the Holmes Manor but stopped shy of climbing the steps that led up to the east-wing entry.

     “I must put you down now, my witch,” he murmured into her hair, “I cannot trespass any further.”

     Molly blinked up at him through a film of tears as he lowered her to her feet. He had grown more beautiful and so much softer in the time she had known him. She could not even see the seam of his neck wound anymore. He was more man than monster.  She wanted to reach for him but refrained due to his previous warnings.

     “Where will you go now?”

     He looked over his shoulder. “I must reunite with my mount before dawn.”

     She experienced momentary panic. “At the stables? Oh, please, you will not harm John Watson, will you?”

     He turned back to gaze upon Molly with an impassive expression. “No. He is just a man. I do not fault him for finding you irresistible; there is no malice in his heart, just loneliness.”

     “He misses you.”

     The Horseman flinched but did not reply. Molly hugged herself. The night air chilled her bones. The warmth of the manor beckoned but there was an issue yet she longed to resolve.

     “D-Do you fault me?” she asked with a quiver of fear.

      A trace of a frown flitted through his features. His generous lips twitched. For a few, excruciating seconds, Molly was terrified of what his reply might be. After a short interlude, his features relaxed. He shook his head slowly.

     “It is not our flesh which binds us, my sweet temptress. What care do I have if another man temporarily possesses that which is but a vessel for your soul?”

      Her heart fluttered. A welling of emotion overflowed in her chest. In all her long years with her husband, even through the times she thought he loved her, she had never heard anything of equitable reverence. She curled her fingers over her heart. How had it come to that- an undead man, a demon, being the impetus for her regaining a sense of worth?

     Impulsively, she reached out and grabbed his large, gloved hands. He sucked in a breath when their palms slapped together and a clap of energy flowed between them. His lips parted in bewilderment. Before he could regain his faculties, Molly was gripped with the instinct to pull her with him. Back she went towards the stairs until she had urged him onto the first step. The moment she did, his appearance shifted. His black garb transformed into a simple, white linen shirt and tan breeches. His wild locks contracted and coiled back over his head. His skin infused with a hint of peach.

     “Come inside with me,” she whispered.

     He squeezed her hands and peered down in stunned silence at his body for a tick. When their eyes met again, he shook his head.

     “I cannot stay. Whatever you have done, it is temporary. The darkness has a claim yet-”

     “Dawn is hours away,” she beseeched him, “please, please, I would lie with you, like this, if only for a short while.”

      His glimmering eyes poured over her face. A slight breeze tussled his locks.

      “I . . .I cannot deny you anything, little witch,” he murmured.

     “Molly,” she rasped, her heart brimming.

      He raised a hand to her face. “Molly.”

      And so they went, up the stairs, into the manor and made their way to her room. Even though they had copulated many times, Molly felt as anxious as a new bride. Inside her chambers, they faced one another with uncertainty, that is until he reached for her and she allowed him to draw her into his embrace.

     His lips fell like feathers at first, gentle as the lightest wisps. Her lips tingled at the contact and her insides flushed with sweet anticipation. Ever so slowly, his hands gravitated to her face and he leaned into their kiss. It intensified, his lips spread over hers, and she felt his passion seep through her flesh into her very soul. This desire he elicited was different, deeper than it ever had been. Her entire being strained to be possessed by him, by his ardency. When his tongue delved into her mouth, she groaned and melted against his lean form. Her hands explored his firm musculature beneath his thin linen shirt. She mapped every dip and ripple of his firm torso before slipping her fingers between his front buttons.

     “Hu-uhh,” he murmured into her mouth, “my witch . . . my Molly.”

     He gently tugged at her nightdress. She pulled back only to allow him to remove it. As soon as she was naked, she stepped forward to jerk the buttons of his shirt open. In a flurry, of kisses and speedy hands, he too was disrobed, and they came together greedily. They stumbled back towards her bed and fell to it; writhing snakes grinding against one another as if trying to start a fire.

     At some point, she found herself under him with his thick cock rubbing against her as his hips rocked. His chest rattled a groan. His eyes glinted.

     “You are beautiful,” he said hoarsely, “luminous.”

     His head dipped. His mouth opened, descended and her nipple was engulfed in wet, hot bliss. His slippery, velvet tongue lapped around it and flicked over the sensitive nub. Teeth gently pulled at it which caused her quim to sting with a decadent throb. Her belly quivered deep down to where she most needed him. Once he had her panting, he kissed his way across the gap and then ensnared the other nipple between his lips.

     As he sucked it in, he wiggled his hips into a more intimate position. His hand slid down her body and reached for his cock. He rubbed its swollen head up and down against her clit as he continued to tease her breast. Then, he sucked on her nipple hard and thrust in. His broad shaft speared into her like a sword through butter.

     “Uuuuunnnh!” she cried.

     He pinched the other nipple gently and thrust again as he suckled on her. She felt her nipple pull deliciously as he arched and drove in. She angled her hips up and wrapped her legs around him to take more, take everything he had to give. Their tummies stuck together, his width spread her legs. She never felt more at one with him. In the heat and the dampness of their skin contact, she could not delineate where their bodies diverged.

     “Mm, unh,” she moaned as he continued to pump his hips.

     His possession never felt more consuming or raw. She could feel every detail of his rippled flesh as he stroked in and out. He lifted his head and braced himself on his forearms as he focused on their joining. The room filled with the sounds of their union. Flesh slapped wantonly, slick fluids smacked, breaths heaved like flags flapping in the breeze. Faster and faster the pace became until Molly could only feel the pressure increasing between her legs and the friction of him stoking her hearth.

     “Molly,” he breathed, “my Molly.”

     Molly could barely hear him, she was beset by an ache that could not be ignored. Her juncture cried out, it was both deliriously happy but rapacious for completion. She bent against him and pleaded for more, for him to deliver her-

     “Aaaaah-” she tensed and cried out.

      Her womb had contracted and suddenly, she was spinning to the earth like a set of winged maple pods. Reverberations rung out from her clit. She clung to him and whimpered through her orgasm. The roots of it propagated through her body, through her limbs to the very ends of her extremities. She even felt the echoes of her pleasure in every follicle atop her head.

     The Horseman, no – _Sherlock_ , wheezed through his next few thrusts before sinking down one last time and bucking. Molly felt his cock stiffen before it spewed his release into her chambers. The girth of it contracted, his balls tightened and he emptied over and over until her cunt was overflowing with his seed. She could feel his member become slick and satisfyingly drenched in his own pleasure.

     “God,” he thrusted in little jerks as his orgasm vibrated through him, “dear god, you are heaven, _my_ heaven.”

     Molly hugged him and kissed his neck. Sherlock threaded his fingers into her hair and teased her mouth up for a kiss. His hips continued to move as if milking every ounce of her gratification.

     “Thank-you, sweet Molly,” he murmured against her mouth, “thank-you for the respite. The lord could take me now, if he so pleased, and I would expire a happy man.”

       “Horseman,” she whispered, “Sh-Sherlock, I have never known this peace. Perhaps the lord has taken us already.”

       He laughed against her lips. It was a warm, rich rumble that livened her soul. She hugged him tightly. Her heart beat wildly. Hearing his laugh for the first time pushed her over a precipice. She was in love with him. A shiver of fear coursed her blood in the wake of her realization. Sherlock rolled sideways and cradled her against his body.

     “Sherlock,” she whispered, “what happened to you?”

     He rubbed her back absentmindedly for several moments. She thought he might not reply, but eventually, he inhaled a deep breath.

     “I was betrayed,” he murmured.

     “By whom?”

     His fingers shook. “My brother.”


End file.
